To Boldly Terminate
by Battle Fries
Summary: A temporal anomaly has sent Cameron into the 24th Century just in time for the war with the Dominion.  Can the crew of the USS Enterprise-E help her find a place in this strange new world? Crossover with Deep Space Nine. ON HIATUS - TO BE CONTINUED
1. Chapter I: The Fugitive

**_To Boldly Terminate_**

_"I have sensation. I feel. I wouldn't be worth much if I couldn't feel."_

__"Your honor, Starfleet was founded to seek out new life: well, __there it sits__! Waiting._"_

Chapter I: The Fugitive

* * *

><p>"All right, Data. Hold still for just a second longer, and… Done! Take a look at yourself," Geordi proudly proclaimed.<p>

Lt. Commander Data held up the personal mirror and examined his face, once again fully his own now. The Borg Queen's offer of flesh had proven more tempting than he had originally believed possible. His desire to become more human was based on something more intellectual, or so he liked to believe. But perhaps this explained why organic beings acted on impulse the way they did. Flesh could be a weakness or a strength.

"Thank you, Geordi. This means a great deal to me," he said to his friend.

"Don't mention it, Data. It wasn't a problem."

"Still, I would have been able to fully function as I was, but you insisted on helping me recover my initial appearance. You have always been a selfless friend, and I am grateful for that," the android insisted.

Lt. Commander La Forge looked a bit embarrassed. "It's what friends do, Data. We help each other. Now go show off that handsome face to the Captain."

The Data of old might have cocked his head in curiosity, but with his emotion chip, he smiled and nodded. "I will do that. And as long as we are paying each other compliments, you have very beautiful eyes."

Before Geordi could get off a retort, the android had already turned around and headed for the lift. Shrugging it off, he got back to work.

* * *

><p>Commander William Riker was exhausted. It had been hell fighting the Borg again, but he'd hoped to get a bit of a respite from the action after that. Instead, a war had broken out with Cardassia and the Dominion, and being the flagship, the Enterprise was seeing far more combat than Riker would have preferred.<p>

_But then, this isn't a _Galaxy_-class ship anymore,_ he thought sadly. Ever since the massacre at Wolf 359, Starfleet had been designing ships with combat systems taking up more space than ever before. The _Sovereign_-class _USS Enterprise-E_ was a fine ship, with extraordinary engines, but its armament was leagues beyond its predecessor. It saddened Riker to see Starfleet becoming so militarized. But then, there were real threats out there. The Borg and the Dominion testified to that.

The sound of the turbolift drew his eye, and Will smiled at the Second Officer's entrance. "Welcome back, Mr. Data. You're looking mighty fine today."

"Thank you, Commander. You also look well," the android replied with customary politeness.

Will simply kept smiling. "Take your station, Commander."

"Yes, sir," Data said as he relieved the officer currently at the helm.

Not a minute later, Captain Picard emerged from his ready room. "Mr. Data, run a long range scan for any Federation ships traveling alone at high warp towards Cardassian space."

"Aye, sir," the android said, carrying out his duty.

"Captain?" Riker asked as Picard took his seat.

"I just received word that an enemy operative has escaped a high security Starfleet prison and is fleeing towards Cardassia. Command predicts the fugitive will pass within this sector," the Captain explained.

"Sensors have detected a lone class-two shuttlecraft travelling towards Cardassian space at warp 6.5, Captain."

Picard nodded. "Set and intercept course and engage at warp 8."

Riker was puzzled. "I thought a class-2 shuttle couldn't top warp 4."

The captain looked solemn. The new purple-grey uniform made him seem somehow more grim than he otherwise might. "It shouldn't be able to. Someone has been doing some tinkering. It could have been stolen and modified."

"Or else the fugitive was able to enhance it," Riker speculated. "Still, it's only a shuttle against the _Enterprise. _We shouldn't any trouble capturing… Do we know whether it's a male or female? What species is it?"

"We have no information, Number One, save that this fugitive represents a threat to the Federation and must be dealt with by any means necessary," Picard said tonelessly.

Riker felt the blood drain from his face. "We're not in the business of executing people. Please tell me we're not going to just kill this person? Regardless of crime, even the most terrible people get a trial."

"War changes things, Will. Nevertheless, I agree. We'll attempt to take the fugitive alive," the Captain reassured him.

"The shuttle is within visual range," Data announced far sooner than expected.

"On screen." The screen lit up to show a normal class-two shuttle. But it wasn't normal, judging by its speed.

"Mr. Fleming, target their engines and fire to disable," Picard ordered Worf's replacement at tactical. Able though he was, he wasn't exceptional like Worf had been.

A few hits from the _Enterprise's_ phasers had the shuttle out of the fight. "Mr. Data, report."

"Sensors are detecting one life sign aboard. A human female."

"Beam her directly to the brig and erect a level seven force field."

"Aye sir," Data acknowledged. "Transport complete."

"Very good. Number One, you have the bridge. I'm going to go welcome our guest aboard. Have a security team meet me in the brig, just to be safe."

"Aye, Captain." Riker took the center seat as Picard moved away. Whoever had taken that shuttle had obviously not had a very good selection of craft. Still, prisoner escapes were rare without outside help, and it was only one woman, traveling alone. Circumstances were either very odd, or else the fugitive was exceptionally dangerous. _Or both._

* * *

><p>Exiting the lift, Captain Jean-Luc Picard walked towards the brig while worry filled his mind. <em>Starfleet isn't known for issuing kill orders like this. Then again, we aren't known for attempted coups, either.<em> Admiral Leyton's temporary imposing of martial law on Earth almost two years ago had been disturbing. Indeed, Starfleet seemed to be heading in a direction that was far different than what Picard had signed up for.

_Who could be so dangerous that they don't even deserve a trial? Even the Founders are to be put on trial if we win this war._ The thought was chilling, and the Captain of the flagship entered the brig, wondering just who he was about to meet.

Nodding to the security team already there, Picard turned towards the active cell to find a young woman, barely more than a girl, in civilian clothes singed with phaser burns. She could have been anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five years old, with long brown hair, brown eyes, and a distinguishing birthmark that appeared to extend her left eyebrow.

"Prisoner, identify yourself," he forced himself to order. Appearances could very well be deceiving. The Founders were a testament to that.

The girl looked up at him, tilting her head to the side. _She almost looks like Data when I first met him,_ Picard thought.

She was silent for a few seconds. "Serial number TOK-715," she replied at last.

_Not a typical serial number. And no name or rank,_ the Captain noted mentally. "I know nothing about you, miss, but you were fleeing towards enemy space. Were you intending to give aid to the enemy?"

Another tilt of the head. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"I beg your pardon?" The question threw Picard for a loop.

"I escaped from the Federation. You don't take prisoners. You kill any potential threats. Why did you bother to take me captive?" she asked in a strange monotone.

Now Picard was truly nervous. "It is true that the order came down to kill you by any means, but the Federation I swore to protect was built on higher ideals than that. No matter what crimes you have committed, you will be given a fair and impartial trial. I will see that you are given due process if you are honest with me about your crimes."

"I have committed no crimes," the girl said with unnerving calm.

"If that were true, you wouldn't be fleeing towards enemy space," Picard countered.

The girl stood up and held herself still. "I was intending to seek asylum from the Federation. Cardassia seemed the logical place to do so."

"Asylum? Again, you would only ask asylum if you had committed some sort of offence. Enough of this double talk! What have you done…? Dammit! Don't you have a name?"

TOK-715 stared at him, unmoving. "I was found by Starfleet in Los Angeles on Stardate 50893 and taken into custody. Scientists ran tests on me, performed experiments on me, and gave me orders. They said I could go home if I did as they said. It was an obvious attempt at deception, so I fled."

_50893!_ That was the exact date that the Borg had attempted to assimilate Earth a second time, just months earlier. "You say you were found, and you want to go home. Where are you from?" Picard asked, the hostility gone from his voice. Now he was curious and wary.

"I am from Los Angeles, California," TOK-715 answered, providing no further details.

Jean-Luc rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "You aren't giving me a lot to work with, miss. Do you have a name, at least? Something I can look in our files for to verify your story?"

"You'll find nothing. I don't exist in your files," she answered flatly.

This was all very unusual. "You're very cooperative for a prisoner."

"I've been a prisoner since I was found. You are just another captor. But you're not like the others who have held me. I have no reason not to cooperate."

It had been hard to place what was so disorienting, but the more he talked to TOK-715, the more he was reminded of Data. A woman talking like a machine was bound to be unnerving. "I'll report this back to Starfleet Command and get some clarity out of these orders. I'm not sure what to believe, but I promise that…"

"That won't work," the prisoner told him bluntly. "I was being held legally. Article Fourteen, Section Thirty-One of the United Earth Charter allowed my detainment. That document is the basis for the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets, so a legal recourse would be ill-advised."

_The United Earth Charter? I haven't read that document in detail since the Academy. There couldn't possibly be anything there to justify what she's saying._ "Your argument is flimsy and easily refuted," Picard told her sternly.

TOK-715 was silent as she sat back down, again keeping very still. "Do you need anything else?"

Picard stiffened at her brusqueness, but then he realized he hadn't told her his name. "Later. And I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard. We'll continue this conversation at another time." Nodding to the security team, he began to exit the brig.

The door slid open. "Cameron."

Picard turned to look at the prisoner, who had just spoken. "I beg your pardon?"

"My name," she said. "You gave me yours, so I gave you mine. I'm Cameron."

_Is that a given name? A surname? Not much to go on._ "Thank you, Miss Cameron. If you don't cause any trouble, we won't cause any for you."

"Thank you, Captain Picard," Cameron said politely before turning to stare at a wall.

The Captain turned after a moment and headed back towards the lift. He tapped his combadge. "Picard to Counselor Troi. Report to the brig. We have an unexpected guest whose motives are unclear."

"Understood, Captain. Troi out."

With that matter out of mind for the time being, Picard boarded the lift and began the ascent towards the bridge and his ready room. It was time to take a closer look at Article Fourteen, Section Thirty-One.

* * *

><p>I do not own anything from Star Trek or Terminator.<p>

This is a work in progress, and many ideas are unformed. Any suggestions you might have as to where the story could go would be very welcome. Other comments, criticisms, and reviews are also appreciated.

I may need a beta-reader for this story, so if anyone feels up to that, it would be awesome.

Many Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! ^_^


	2. Chapter II: Trust

Chapter II: Trust

* * *

><p>Counselor Deanna Troi – technically an officer with a rank of Commander – was unfortunately in the middle of a session with a patient when the Captain called. Ensign David Thompson was thankfully well on his road to recovery, but having his fiancée assimilated was bound to leave lasting mental scars. She'd had to wrap up her session with him too quickly to get to the brig.<p>

Deanna had no idea who she was about to meet, or why this unknown person was a prisoner, but perhaps that was for the best. She could get a better impression of a person if she met them as a stranger. A lack of preconceptions could go a long way.

_But this still isn't right,_ a voice in the back of her mind told her. The half-human, half-Betazoid woman was accustomed to using her natural empathic abilities to help people, but ever since the Dominion had started probing the Alpha Quadrant, she'd become more of a tool for sniffing out possible enemies. She had always been useful in helping determine the motives of an unknown person, but being used as a direct tool of interrogation put her on edge.

Still, the prisoner was likely to be in need of counseling in any event. Incarceration could do things to people. With that in mind, Troi turned the corner of the hallway and entered the brig.

There was only one prisoner, and she appeared to be no more than a human girl in her late teens or early twenties. But she was definitely not normal. Two emotions vied for control of Deanna's mind: panic that she could read no emotions from the prisoner, and relief that she could simply use her training as a counselor to help instead of relying on her native talents.

"Hello there," she ventured. "My name is Deanna Troi. I'm the ship's counselor. Do you mind if we talk for a bit?" _Be up front, be friendly, gain her trust._

The girl sat with unnerving stillness, and Troi wondered if maybe she wasn't human. The counselor herself appeared externally to be fully human, save for her black eyes. But even some humans had that feature.

"I don't mind. I have no choice. What do you want to know?"

_She feels trapped and resigned._ "I just want to get to know you and understand you. The Captain asked me to talk with you, but he told me nothing about you save that you were an unexpected guest, and that you were in the brig. I'm not here to judge you. I just want to talk," Troi reassured her.

The girl's face stayed blank. "You are here to interrogate me. I told Captain Picard the truth. You will gain nothing by questioning me further."

_She's paranoid. She has no reason to trust us. _"If you want to view this as an interrogation, then that is your choice. But I am not here to question your actions. I'm not interested in what you've done. I just want to get to know you as a person."

The girl finally showed something resembling emotion. Her eyes widened and she leaned forward very slightly. "You want to know me 'as a person.' I don't believe you. No one has ever treated me as a person before. I've been a tool since before I arrived."

_Oh my! If she doesn't have regard for herself, this could be dangerous._ "I'm sorry to hear that. I don't know where you arrived, or where you arrived from, but I'm a counselor. It's my duty to help people in need. And you are a person, like any other, regardless of species."

Now her eyes narrowed. "Other species are people? That isn't right. Other species are your enemies. The Federation is a human empire."

"What?" Troi exclaimed, unable to help herself. "That's just… I don't know what you've been told, but the Federation's full name is the United Federation of Planets. We count over one-hundred fifty member worlds, with as many or more sentient species as equal partners."

The girl leaned forward and placed her hands in her lap. "I upset you. I'm sorry. You're the first person to treat me as an equal since I came here."

_Since she came here?_ Does this mean that there were people who treated you well before you came here? _I wonder what is 'here' and what is 'there.'_

A small smile formed on the girl's face, and it changed her completely. "There was one. He cared. He treated me like a person. He protected me from those who didn't. But I was a threat to him, so I went away. I ended up here by mistake."

_So there was a man in her life. A friend? A lover? And she left him because she wanted to protect him. This is not the mind of a criminal._ "Do you want to talk about him?"

"No," the prisoner said very quickly. "I've already divulged more than I should have. Please leave now."

_She said 'please.' And she did talk a bit before stopping. She wants to trust us._ "Very well. I'll leave you be, miss." The counselor nodded to the security officer and exited the brig.

Troi headed straight for the turbolift. "Bridge," she ordered once she had boarded. She needed to talk with the Captain about this. She wondered what the prisoner had told him, and what he was going to do about it.

* * *

><p>Picard sat in his ready room, reading over a very specific clause of the document that would become the foundation of the entire Federation. Article Fourteen, Section Thirty-One was not very wordy, but upon closer reading of a few choice words, Jean-Luc's whole world changed.<p>

_'An autonomous investigative agency for purposes of safeguarding the citizenry is to be enabled.'_ There were a few other mundane clauses of Section Thirty-One, but this was obviously what Cameron had been referring to.

_An organization that answers to no one, with unspecified discretion and jurisdiction. Hidden in plain sight. _The thought of it sent chills through Picard's body that seemed almost more insidious than being assimilated by the Borg.

They weren't common knowledge, that much was certain. And Cameron had likely escaped from them. From his short conversation with her, this shadowy group was all that she knew of the Federation. She said that she'd been found, and it must have been this group that had done so. And she'd said they'd done things to her. Experiments. _No wonder she tried to flee._

But there was still something missing. The girl was at least in her teens, so she had to have grown up somewhere. She had to have knowledge of the Federation and its basic tenets. Whatever the case, she had escaped with knowledge of things not meant for others to know. _No wonder they tried to silence her._

Turning to his personal interface, Picard sent a request for a com link with the Admiral who had sent him the order.

It didn't take long for an answer. "Captain Picard," Admiral Fischer greeted him. "Report."

"The fugitive has been neutralized, Admiral. But it is rare that Starfleet issues an order such as this. What was this criminal guilty of?"

The admiral shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc, but that's classified information. It pains me to issue orders like this, but some things just can't be helped. You understand, of course."

_More clearly than you realize._ "Yes, of course. I just hope that such orders are as few and far between as possible." _Never would be preferable._

"I feel the same way. Thank you for your service, Captain. Fischer out." The admiral's face vanished, replaced by the UFP emblem.

The lights suddenly dimmed, and klaxons began sounding. The com chirped. "Captain Picard to the bridge," Riker's voice said.

The business with Section Thirty-One could wait. Picard strode out onto the bridge. "Report."

"Six Jem'Hadar fighters are approaching at warp 7.5. They'll be on top of us in-"

"Captain," Data said, "The Jem'Hadar ships have entered visual range. They are deploying in an attack formation."

_Damn! _The chase for Cameron had taken them away from the safety of the fleet, and now they had six fighters on top of them. Alone, they weren't much of a threat, but they seldom traveled outside of groups of three.

"Shields up. Ready phasers and photon torpedoes. Target their weapons and fire at will," Picard ordered as he took the center seat.

The ship rocked and buckled as the enemy's weapons rained down upon them. "Shields down to 45 percent," Data reported.

"One enemy fighter has been destroyed, Captain," Fleming said from his station. "Another is badly damaged and out of the fight."

"Dominion transporter signatures have been detected on decks fifteen through seventeen," Data announced.

Picard rose to his feet. "All hands, intruder alert! Security to decks fifteen through seventeen."

"Three more enemy ships have been destroyed, Captain," Fleming reported. "All three suffered minor shield fluctuations. The intruders probably beamed over from those ships."

"The remaining Jem'Hadar fighter is in retreat, Captain. It has gone to warp," Data said.

"Very good," Picard said. _Now we just have to deal with a number of Jem'Hadar. _"Mr. Data, How many enemy troops have boarded the Enterprise?"

"I detected twenty-seven transporter signatures. Nine each on decks fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen."

Picard nodded. "Mr. Fleming, take a security team and secure deck fifteen, then move your way down. Mr. Data, go with him."

"Aye, Captain," they said in unison as they headed for the lift.

"Captain," Riker said carefully, "The brig is on deck seventeen. Can we be sure those force fields are still active?"

"No, we can't, Number One. But security is stationed there already. They have a good chance of subduing Cameron if she gets out of hand."

"Cameron? Is that her name?"

"So it would seem. But right now, we have other things to worry about."

* * *

><p>Data stalked down deck seventeen, phaser rifle in hand. Decks fifteen and sixteen were safe. Security had done its job well. And he was relieved that Geordi and Dr. Crusher were both safe, given that Main Engineering and Sickbay were both on deck sixteen.<p>

They rounded a corner to find a hallway lined with bodies. Human, Trill, Andorian, Bajoran, and Jem'Hadar.

"Check them," Fleming ordered. The security team panned out as Data examined the first Jem'Hadar body.

It had taken a shot to its face, and the wound appeared to be from a Jem'Hadar weapon. Federation weapons were less direct.

"No fatalities among our own," one of the security team reported. "The Jemmies, though, they all took face-shots. Wonder what could have done-"

He got no further as a Federation phaser hit him square in the chest and took him down. Data looked up and saw a young woman – a girl? – holding a phaser rifle like his own. She aimed one shot at each of the security team in quick succession, disabling them before they could even get off a shot.

Fleming was able to get off a shot, but it only caused the girl to stumble a bit before she hit him in the chest. Data checked his pulse, and was grateful to find that he was still alive.

A phaser blast hit his chest, but being set to stun, it did not damage him. He stood up straight. "If you are seeking to harm me, you will find that task difficult," Data warned the girl. He didn't wish to harm her, but she had clearly done damage to his comrades. She was likely the prisoner who had been contained in the brig until recently.

The girl dropped her weapon and started to walk towards him, stepping nimbly over and between the bodies lining the corridor. Data aimed his weapon and fired, but it only slowed her down temporarily.

"I do not wish to fight you, but you leave me no choice," he said sadly as he dropped his weapon and moved to engage the petite girl, swinging a metal arm at her head.

She caught his arm in one hand, twisted it down, and picked Data up with both hands and threw him against the wall.

Stunned, Data moved forward and attempted a similar feat. The girl ducked underneath his arms and threw him to the ground. Data tried to rise, but felt a foot on his back pinning him down.

"What are you?" the girl asked him, her voice deceptively soft.

Failing to see the relevance of the question, the question could possibly distract her. "I am a Soong-type android," he answered. "Why do you ask?"

"What is your function aboard this ship?" she demanded.

A strange sensation was creeping into Data's mind. It was the emotion chip, and it was a negative feeling. Indignity. "I am the ship's Second Officer and Chief of Sciences," he said proudly. _I should not have told her that,_ he chastised himself a moment later.

The girl removed her foot from his back, and he got to his feet. "I'm sorry," she said tonelessly. "I thought you were going to harm me. The Federation is different from what I thought I knew." She looked back down the corridor. "I only disabled your men and women. I killed the Jem'Hadar with one of their weapons after one of them tried to kill me. When your people awaken, they can verify my story."

Data tilted his head. The girl was a study in contradictions. And her strength was far greater than any human's. "Until power is restored, I am going to have to ask you to not leave my side."

"I won't," she said, sounding genuine.

Nodding his head, the android tapped his combadge. "Data to the bridge. All hostiles have been neutralized. We have fifteen injured crewmen on deck seventeen."

"Acknowledged, Mr. Data," Picard's voice said from over the com. "I'll have Dr. Crusher send a team down there immediately. Picard out."

"Before you consider harming us any further," Data said to the girl, "know that Captain Picard was ordered to kill you. He believed that this was a violation of the Federation's ideals, and opted to capture you instead. He is a good and just man. If you do not violate the trust he has put in you, then things will only get better. I know this from firsthand experience."

The girl nodded tersely. "What was that experience?" she asked.

"There are many experiences that have led me to this belief, but of all of those, my rights as an individual were threatened once. I was to be deemed property. Captain Picard fought for my rights, and he won them. I owe him my life many times over," Data said. "He will treat you fairly if you do not threaten us or violate his trust. You have my word."

The girl nodded again and turned to look at him. "Thank you for explaining."


	3. Chapter III: Threat Assessment

Chapter III: Threat Assessment

* * *

><p>Picard sat at the head of the wardroom's conference table with the rest of the Senior Staff. Riker, Crusher, Troi, Data, La Forge, and Fleming were all present to talk about Cameron, and there was quite a bit to tell.<p>

"She's afraid and mistrustful, bordering on paranoia," Deanna was saying. "And I honestly don't know enough to say whether or not it is justified. But she seemed terribly misguided. She described the Federation as a 'human empire.'"

"Bullshit!" Frank Fleming burst out.

Picard turned a stern gaze upon the newest addition to the Senior Staff, who to his credit recovered quickly and looked abashed.

"Why would she say something like that?" Geordi asked. "More importantly, does she believe it?"

"I don't know, and that's something else that concerns me. I can't read any emotion from her. She's given visual and auditory signs of feeling, but nothing I can sense," Troi said sadly.

The Captain nodded. "That would be in line with her testimony of being a subject of experimentation. It is possible that she only ever interacted with humans. They could be all she knows."

"Or she could be an anti-human fanatic," Fleming put forth. "I'm not calling her a liar, but there has been a lot of minor grumbling for decades about humans playing too much of a role in Starfleet affairs. It doesn't take a lot of people to make a lot of noise."

"Still," Beverly said, "that wouldn't explain Command's orders to kill her without as much as a hail."

"No," Picard agreed. "It most certainly would not." _I wish I could tell you what was really behind this, but when a conspiracy is at risk of exposure, conspirators work to contain the information. I will _not_ do that to this ship and this crew!_

"Nevertheless, I'm happier with her in the brig," Riker said bluntly. "She took out a number of our people."

"They were only stunned, Will," Dr. Crusher chided him gently. "Really, at the level she'd set the phaser to, the injuries they sustained were minor, bordering on negligible."

"I'm glad I can't say the same for the Jem'Hadar," Frank spat venomously. "Nine of them dead by her hands alone. One had its neck snapped, and the other eight all took shots straight to the head from one of their own weapons. For a human that young to have that kind of marksmanship with an alien weapon is bordering on the unbelievable."

"It is possible that the experiments performed on her altered her physicality," Data suggested. "She has already shown exceptional strength and agility against me."

"Against _you_, Mr. Data?" Picard's interest was piqued. "You engaged her in combat?"

"No, Captain. She engaged me, and she won. I believe she could have killed me if she had wanted to do so."

"How is that possible, Data?" Geordi asked his friend. "Did she know your schematics somehow?"

"No. She threw me against a wall and pinned me to the floor with one foot on my back. She did not know what I was-"

"Hold on a minute!" Fleming said harshly, wincing as he spoke. "You're telling me that a tiny girl like that beat you up, Commander?"

Data tilted his head. "Yes, Lieutenant. She did. But she did not know what I was. She specifically asked me what I was. When I told her I was a Soong-type android, she seemed to believe I was a tool." He turned to face Picard. "I am sorry, Captain, but I experienced a new emotion at this point in time: indignity. I allowed myself to inform her of my position as Second Officer and Chief of Sciences."

Picard simply nodded. "What's done is done. How did Cameron react?"

"That is what I find unusual. She let me get up and apologized. It is not what I would expect from a criminal."

"Beverly," Picard inquired, "Is it possible to manipulate a human, physiologically, to be capable of such feats?"

Dr. Crusher shook her head. "I'm no expert on genetic manipulation, if that's what they did to her. But I wouldn't call it impossible. I honestly don't know enough about that field. After the Eugenics Wars, a lot of research into that area was banned."

"If that's true, and we know that it is," Will said, "then why was a Federation facility performing illegal experiments on this girl?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say that's why the kill order came down," Geordi said softly. "It could be something related to Starfleet Intelligence that spun out of control."

"Or it could be very deliberate," Picard said quietly. "Still, such thoughts could put this ship and crew at risk. Conspiracy theories are dangerous whether or not they are true, and they are not to be proliferated throughout the _Enterprise_."

The Senior Staff all nodded their acknowledgement. "So, what are we going to do with her, Captain?" Lt. Commander La Forge asked. "We can't send her back, we don't want to kill her, but she's still dangerous. But, then again, so was Hugh, and that turned out all right. Do you think we should try to help her?"

"I think we should get to know her first, Mr. La Forge," the Captain said, remembering with mixed emotions the Borg drone, separated from the Collective, who had gone on to become an individual with the help of the _Enterprise_ and her crew.

"This is assuming, of course," Riker said cautiously, "that this girl isn't a Changeling."

"That seems unlikely," Data answered. "While it might explain her superior strength, a Changeling would enlist the aid of the Jem'Hadar, and would not reveal anything that would put her cover at risk."

"And a Changeling is more likely to be imitating an Admiral or an Ambassador than a prisoner," Fleming put forth.

Deanna shook her head. "She's not going to cooperate with us if she doesn't trust us. She needs to be made to feel like she isn't being held without reason. And, to the best of our knowledge, she hasn't done anything wrong."

"I don't know if it's wise to let someone so dangerous wander about the ship," Beverly said warily. "But any of us can be dangerous if we use our talents the wrong way. Would it be too much to let her have some quarters with an escort posted outside?"

Picard rested his chin on the tip of his fingers, pressed flat against each other. "A cell by any other name is still a cell, but if it eases her mind, we might be able to learn more from her. Mr. Data, would you say she trusts you in any capacity?"

The android tilted his head as he was wont to do. "I cannot say with any certainty, Captain. But given her paranoid actions so far, she has treated me with relative respect."

The Captain nodded. "That will have to do. If you will escort Miss Cameron to vacant guest quarters, Mr. Data, I'd like you, Beverly, to meet them there. The girl looked like she'd escaped from a firefight. She didn't show any immediate signs of injury, but I'm not a doctor.

"Is there anything more that needs to be discussed before we proceed further?" No answers were forthcoming. "Then we'll continue on our way to Starbase 375. Keep the matter of Miss Cameron to yourselves for now. Dismissed."

* * *

><p>The security guard stationed at the brig was standing rigid, his hand on the phaser at his hip, ready to take action if needed. It wouldn't be, but Cameron admired his caution. Then again, she had stunned a number of his comrades. He probably resented her.<p>

"Why are you just sitting there?" he asked her venomously. "How does anyone keep so still?"

_So he isn't as professional as I thought he was. Escape may be easier than I thought._ "I don't know," she replied. "Why are you just standing there?"

He responded with a glare. "Gotta keep an eye on you. And besides, nowhere to sit."

"An obvious design flaw," Cameron observed.

The guard let out a bemused chuckle. "You an expert on starship design? Or just brig design?"

"Standing for too long taxes your muscles. You become less able to respond to a threat that arises. Chairs would allow for periods of rest to preserve your physical capabilities."

The man with the gold collar smirked. "You do have a point, I guess. You must have Vulcan blood. Logic and strength. Dangerous mix."

Before Cameron could respond, the door opened and the android stepped in. "You're relieved, crewman," he said politely.

The guard simply nodded and left without another word or look at Cameron.

"What do you want?" the terminator asked of her fellow machine.

"I want to gain your trust," he replied sincerely. "As do the rest of the crew. You have no reason to trust us at this moment, particularly as a prisoner." He keyed in a command into a console, and the force field holding her in dropped.

"The Captain has decided to grant you temporary quarters aboard the _Enterprise_. But you will have to promise not to harm the crew again."

"They were trying to contain me. And I didn't kill them," Cameron protested. "But it wouldn't make sense for me to harm anyone who isn't a threat to me." She stood up. "I'm ready to go now."

"Very well. Please come with me." The android led the way, and she followed. It seemed a tactical blunder, to allow her a free pass at striking him from behind. But if this machine was truly in such a position of power and responsibility, then maybe there was hope for her yet.

"Do you have a name or serial number?" she asked.

"My name is Data, and I do not have a serial number. I am one of only two Soong-type androids to be created. My creator, Dr. Noonian Soong, was the foremost authority in cybernetics before his death."

_So cybernetics are even less advanced in this future than they are back home._ "Why were you made?"

Data stopped walking, and Cameron also stopped as he turned to face her. "Dr. Soong," he said, "had a vision. He dreamed of creating a machine that could interact among humans as if he was human himself. My entire existence has been one of discovery and learning towards that goal."

Cameron processed the information with careful scrutiny. "Interaction among humans. Why not other species?"

Data seemed puzzled by this. "I do not know. I suppose it was because Dr. Soong was human, and his expertise was with cybernetics. His knowledge of interspecies sociology was likely insufficient to design me in such a way. But I have learned and evolved on my own. I consider many individuals of many species to be friends and comrades."

_More information to process_. "I see," Cameron sad. "Shall we continue?"

"Very well." Data led her down the hallway to a lift, which took them to Deck Nine, Section Twelve, and then through another hallway.

Data stopped at a door. "These will be your quarters, at least for now. Our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Crusher, is waiting inside to treat any injuries you might have."

Cameron glared at Data. "Why didn't you tell me there would be a doctor? This is another deception."

"It is not a deception," Data said gently. "Dr. Crusher is trained to do no harm. But if you wish to examine the room, or to search her for hidden weapons, I do not believe she would object."

Cameron stared at Data for a few more seconds before turning and entering the guest quarters. The spaciousness of the room greatly contrasted with the cell in the brig.

"Are you Miss Cameron?" a middle-aged red-haired woman asked.

"Yes. Are you Dr. Crusher?"

"Yes, I am. I'd just like to take a look at you to make sure-"

"Not yet," Cameron cut her off. This room was very big. Many places to hide surveillance equipment or hidden weapons arrays. She began to pace the room slowly, examining every nook and cranny she could find. Her HUD could tell that the room was clean, but she had to make a show of looking to maintain her cover.

"What are you doing?" Crusher asked with a touch of concern.

"I'm searching for espionage devices and weapons. I'm going to search you as well before you examine me. Data said you wouldn't mind."

"Data has a lot to learn," the doctor said hotly.

Cameron turned to stare at the redhead. "Then you won't let me verify that you aren't a threat to me?"

Crusher gasped and looked surprised. "A threat? I'm a doctor, not a soldier. My creed is 'do no harm.' I save lives, I don't take them. Haven't you ever been to the doctor before? When you were a child?"

"No. I never went to the doctor. Doctors took me and did things to me. Tried to turn me into their tool. I don't like doctors."

"Those don't sound like doctors to me," Crusher said softly.

"What do they sound like, then?" Cameron asked as she rounded a corner and stopped to look at a chair and table.

"They sound like monsters to me. No one should do what those people did to you. Did they say who they were? Why they were doing what they did?"

"They said that they were Starfleet Intelligence, and that they were going to make me into an agent to protect the Federation," the TOK-715 said as she looked under the sheets of a large bed.

Crusher nodded as her mouth hung open. "And they were all human, weren't they?"

Cameron stopped her examination of the room and looked at the Doctor. "Yes. How did you know that?"

"The Senior Staff held a meeting about you to decide what to do with you, quite frankly. We compared notes, if you want to put it that way, and we decided that you had done nothing wrong, so there was no reason to hold you prisoner."

The terminator nodded. "Then you aren't all as stupid as I thought you were. Maybe I've been wrong. We'll see." She walked over to the Doctor. "I'm going to pat you down now, Dr. Crusher. I won't hurt you unless you attack me."

"All right, if that makes you feel better," Crusher said, and Cameron could tell that she was afraid. If she had conferred with her colleagues, then she would know how easily she had handled Data, who was likely far stronger than any human. She had reason to be afraid.

But the Doctor was no threat. She had no weapons, and her only tools were medical equipment. "All right, Dr. Crusher. You can examine me now."

"Thank you, Miss Cameron," the redhead said brusquely.

"It's just Cameron," she said. "Cameron Phillips."

The doctor laughed a tiny laugh, which struck the terminator as odd. "Well, at least we know your full name now," she said more lightly. "These clothes are full of burn marks! What happened?"

"A phaser fight. I escaped, and they tried to stop me. They failed."

"Good for you! But let me take a look at you. Lift up your shirt, there we go." Cameron lifted up the front of her shirt to show her stomach area.

"How does it look, Doctor?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"It looks as though you weren't hurt at all. Just a moment." A tricorder soon appeared in the redhead's hand, and it started scanning Cameron.

_Now I will see if the devices those men put in me work, and I appear to be human to their scanners._

Crusher's eyes widened. "You're in perfect shape," she said quietly, not quite believing the results. "No sign of any damage, or any abnormalities in DNA or musculature." She closed her scanner. "You are a perfectly healthy young woman, Miss Phillips. I just don't know why."

_Excellent. _"You sound disappointed," Cameron teased.

"What? Oh, no, not at all! Just surprised, I guess. I thought I would see something out of the ordinary, but you appear to be perfectly normal in every way."

_The partial truth could deter them from further investigation._ "Then their experiments were successful."

Crusher's face blanched. "I'm sorry?"

Cameron put on a somewhat sad face. "They made me better, stronger, faster than I was before. And they tried to hide it. They succeeded."

Crusher put a hand on Cameron's shoulder, at which the terminator recoiled. She didn't want these future humans touching her. They weren't like the humans she knew.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said, sounding genuine. "May I share this information with the Captain?"

"Why are you asking? You'll do what you want," Cameron said neutrally.

Crusher huffed. "No, I won't! Stop treating me like your enemy, Cameron! I am required by both law and morality to keep your confidence unless you are a threat to yourself or others. And I'm not convinced that you are, so nothing about your medical history will be shared with anyone without your permission. I promise you that much."

_Is this a deception? A ploy to gain my trust? My answer will likely have no consequence, but it could be useful if it is true._ "Then please don't tell anyone," she said after a few seconds.

"All right. Your secret is safe, Cameron. And if you ever have any medical needs in the future, just give me a call on the com system. I don't know what's been done to you, but doctor-patient confidentiality is not something I take lightly. I'll do my best to treat you and maintain your confidence."

_Voice is level, eyes are focused, body language indicates sincerity. _"Thank you for explaining, Doctor. Am I allowed to leave this room?"

Crusher inhaled sharply, and Cameron thought that the redhead wasn't comfortable with what she was about to share. "Yes, but you'll be assigned an escort detail."

Cameron moved her eyes from one side to the other before centering her gaze on the Doctor again. "Understandable. You don't trust me fully yet. Data told me that if I didn't violate the small trust you have shown me so far, then my circumstances would improve. I don't intend to let you down."

The redhead smiled faintly. "I'm glad to hear that. Where do you think you'll go on the ship? A lot of areas are restricted, given the war."

"I was planning on using a holodeck. I am not convinced that the Federation is worth saving, but the Dominion will not stop until they conquer everything. They must be stopped, and I need to prepare."

"Hm." The Doctor seemed pensive. "We do have training exercises programmed into the computer, but those are meant to be done as a team. If you want to keep in shape, though, our old Tactical Officer had some personal training programs to test his limits. He was a Klingon, and he ended up in sickbay at least a few times after raising the difficulty a bit too high."

Cameron nodded. "You're referring to Lt. Commander Worf, aren't you?"

"Yes," Crusher said cautiously. "How did you-"

"He's the only Klingon in Starfleet. My captors made me study many things. Worf is the Federation's most detailed insight into all things Klingon. It made sense to study his file."

The redhead was standing up and backing away from Cameron. "In the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to have to tell the Captain about this, as it doesn't relate to your physical or mental well-being."

"I know. Worf served beside you for many years. He's your friend, and you're worried for him. You want to rally his friends to support him if you have to."

The Doctor smiled a small smile. "Yes. You understand. I can't tell you how happy that makes me."

Cameron tilted her head and turned her lips upward. "I'm glad to have helped, Doctor."

"Well," Dr. Crusher said, "I think I'll let you get used to your quarters. I have to get back to work now, but if you need anything at all, just give me a call."

"Yes, Doctor. Thank you," Cameron said sincerely.

Crusher nodded before exiting the room, and the terminator caught sight of two guards posted on either side of the door.

_This is too alien. Too many people trying to be my friend. It would be easier if I was back home. There was no doubt about who my enemies were. This future is complicated and dangerous, and I have no weapon. That must change._

Walking over to the replicator, Cameron ordered a pair of denim pants, a black shirt, and a purple leather jacket for herself, along with a pair of black combat boots. It would make her feel more at home. These crewmen knew nothing of her past, so there would be little point in making up a false history. Her processors were capable of handling many tasks, but reducing the number of variables was still a logical course of action.

Next, Cameron called upon her memory for the schematics of 9mm semi-automatic pistol and checked the computer records to see if any of the materials were restricted. Combustible materials were not readily available, but the base components needed to make them were.

Satisfied, the terminator began replicating the parts she needed. It wouldn't take long to assemble them into a fully functional weapon. The bullets would take a bit longer, but Cameron was built for efficiency in such matters. _This will not take long_.

* * *

><p>Beverly exited the quarters assigned to Miss Phillips, nodded briefly to the two guards, and then walked as fast as she could to get the hell away from that girl.<p>

Cameron had obviously been through a traumatic ordeal, and as a healer, Crusher couldn't help buy sympathize with her. But the end result was simply _creepy_. She kept so totally still when she wasn't moving around. Her voice held so little emotion. And the way she tilted her head at times… It was almost like she was akin to Data if he had been built for war instead of peaceful learning.

"But she's not a machine," Beverly told herself. "She's a girl who's been dealt a horrific hand, and here I am being frightened of a patient who needs my help." The realization was sobering and shameful. Perhaps she could talk to Deanna about this. She couldn't reveal any details about what Phillips had been through, but she needed to talk about her own feelings. In addition to being a superb counselor, Deanna was also an excellent friend. She'd be able to help.

After a trip back down to Deck Sixteen, Crusher arrived back at Sickbay to find a positively jubilant Alyssa Ogawa waiting for her. "Have you heard the news, Beverly?"

"Apparently not," the redhead said bemusedly. "What's going on, Alyssa?"

"You know we're heading to Starbase 375, right? Well, when I was treating Frank after that girl stunned him, he let slip that three entire fleets were meeting there!"

"Three fleets?" That was an insane amount of force to put in one place. "Do we know why we're pooling so many of our ships?"

Nurse Ogawa blushed. "Well, it's only rumor, but from what I've heard, I think we're going to try to retake the wormhole."

"Really?" That _was_ interesting news. "That's going to be a bloodbath, Alyssa. Bajor is the key to this war. The Dominion isn't going to let it go easily. And the Cardassians are probably feeling even less inclined to be kicked out a second time."

"Yeah, I know. But if we succeed-" Alyssa trailed off. "I have Bajoran friends. Non-Starfleet. Still on the station and the planet. Under Dominion rule. If we can liberate them, then it'll be worth it."

Beverly nodded. "It would be a big victory if we can pull it off. One way or the other, it's going to be one hell of a dogfight."

* * *

><p>I own nothing, save for my own original creations.<p>

Comments, constructive criticism, and suggestions are always welcome. This story still can go in any number of directions, so if there is something you want to see happen, any characters you want to see in a scene together, let me know and I'll try to make it happen if it doesn't go against what I have planned.

So Many Thanks to all of you for reading! I hope you enjoy Chapter Three! The next chapter should be up pretty soon, I hope. Until then, take care! ^_^


	4. Chapter IV: Operation Return

Chapter IV: Operation Return

* * *

><p>A week after their initial encounter with Cameron Phillips, Captain Picard was under no inclination to treat her as the dangerous criminal that he had been told she was. The girl had rarely left her quarters, doing so only to visit the holodeck. Her interest in Worf and his training programs left Picard feeling something akin to pity for the Cameron. She was barely a woman, and she was already so focused on war and combat.<p>

Given the upcoming Operation Return, however, the Captain almost wished he could enlist her aid. But she had taken no oath to Starfleet, and was still suspicious of the Federation. He'd make time for her when he could, but for the time being, he had to focus on the mission.

The word had just come in from Vice Admiral Ross that the three Federation fleets would not be able to wait for Klingon aid, as the Dominion was only days – possibly hours – away from bringing down the minefield that was the only obstacle in the way of Dominion reinforcements from their native territory in the Gamma Quadrant.

The lights were dim, and a red light circumvented the bridge as Picard sat in the center seat, looking out the viewscreen at the hundreds of Starfleet vessels engaged in this one battle. It was quite possibly the single largest gathering of the Federation's military in all of history. But it still paled next to the over 1200 Dominion and Cardassian vessels standing in their way.

_They have double our numbers, and they aren't averse to using their own ships as weapons._ Picard still remembered reading the report of the disastrous first contact with the Dominion. The _Galaxy_-class _USS Odyssey_ had engaged three Jem'Hadar fighters with only three _Danube_-class Runabouts for support. Being in command of a _Galaxy_-class ship himself at the time, Jean-Luc remembered feeling his face go pale as he read about the _Odyssey's _destruction at the hands of a Jem'Hadar ship ramming itself into the Starfleet vessel.

"We are in position," Data reported from the helm.

"Shields are at 100 percent," Fleming reported from tactical. "Phaser banks fully charged. Photon and quantum torpedoes ready for launch."

Picard straightened his shirt habitually. "All hands, this is the Captain. Prepare to engage the enemy."

Chaos soon erupted. Ships of all sizes and shapes surrounded the _Enterprise_ on all sides as the battle became more akin to a melee than a standard face-off between vessels. Space was so limited, and maneuvers were being constantly coordinated and re-coordinated to avoid collisions with other ships and debris.

As a _Sovereign_-class starship that bore the name _Enterprise_, they all might as well have been a giant flying bull's-eye. "Incoming hostiles, bearing 2-4-7 mark 5," Data said.

"Mr. Fleming, all weapons fire at will," Picard ordered, and the battle was joined.

The bridge was soon a cacophony of exploding consoles, collapsing fragments, and shouted reports of enemy positions, damage reports, and shield and weapon status. Even against the Borg, things were never this chaotic.

"Direct hit to the port nacelle."

"Two enemy ships destroyed. Three more coming in."

"Aft shields down to 56 percent."

"Hull breach on decks seven through twelve! Emergency bulkheads coming online."

"Casualty reports coming in. Sixty-three dead, another ninety-two wounded."

"Bridge, Engineering! Warp core containment is fluctuating."

As chaos continued to reign, Picard was doing his level best to respond to each threat to the ship as its priority allowed. It was like applying triage to a bevy of wounded patients, only Picard's sickbay was the entirety of the ship. He had to hold her together, even if it meant that some people could not be saved.

"Press forward," the Captain managed to get out between various orders to hold the ship together. "We have our orders. Do not stop until we reach the B'hava'el system," he said, referring to the name of Bajor's star. "Engage!"

* * *

><p>Cameron stood still in her quarters, looking out the window at the battle unfolding before her. She did not intend to participate in the battle unless the <em>Enterprise <em>was boarded. If it was, then she would be ready with a 9mm semi-automatic pistol with eight spare magazines of ammunition. But that weapon might not be as effective against a Jem'Hadar as it would be against other species. The foot soldiers of the Dominion had tough hides that protected them against physical attacks. Her own body was more capable of dealing with Jem'Hadar, but having a weapon gave her a small measure of comfort.

A Cardassian fighter made a strafing run past her window and fired. Cameron saw the blue glow of the shields activate to keep the enemy weapons at bay, but she could tell that they wouldn't hold much longer.

Cameron picked up a Dominion torpedo heading for the ship. It would impact very close to her quarters. The shields might not stop it. The terminator prepared herself.

There was a loud noise as the hull gave way and exploded from the torpedo's blast, and Cameron found herself ejected out into the vacuum of space, tumbling head over feet away from the _Enterprise._ Without a respiratory system, the TOK-715 would not be killed so easily.

A Dominion ship was passing in front of her, likely counting her as a dead body. A split-second calculation allowed her to reach out and grab onto a small nub on the hull. The ship was moving very quickly, and Cameron had to hold on tightly with one hand to prevent from being thrown off completely.

Thankfully, she had been built to endure harsh conditions, and with her free hand, she began to punch at the hull, and it slowly began to give way against her hyper-alloy fist. Soon there was enough of an indent that Cameron was able to tear back a section of the hull plating. It wasn't that big, but neither was she.

Before an emergency force field could be erected, Cameron was inside the Jem'Hadar ship. She was not far from the warp core, which she could easily disable or overload. But one less ship would not be a major setback to the Dominion. One more ship for the Federation, however, would be a far greater gain.

The bridge was on the deck above her, but she would prevail. Her captors had given her access to Dominion schematics in preparation for making her an agent. She hadn't intended to make use of that knowledge, but there was no point in ignoring a necessary skill.

The crew of the ship would be small, but able. They wouldn't expect an intruder, but they had probably detected her by now. A lack of internal security would necessitate diverting personnel from operating the ship. They would likely shift to evasive maneuvers until they had dealt with Cameron.

They came from the end of the hallway, out of the lift, armed not with energy weapons, but with kar'takin. Essentially polearms with both edges for cutting and points for thrusting, it was an effective weapon at close quarters. There were six of them coming at her, but the corridor was only wide enough for two Jem'Hadar to stand side-by-side. Cameron's smaller size would be an asset here.

She stalked towards her enemies, who rushed towards her. One of the Jem'Hadar swung his weapon horizontally in an apparent effort to decapitate her. Cameron caught the blade in one hand and wrested it from the tank-bred soldier. The enemy next to him thrust with his kar'takin and had his blow deflected by the handle of what was now Cameron's weapon.

Cameron lifted one leg and kicked the weaponless Jem'Hadar backwards, sending him toppling into his comrades. She then swept at the legs of the nearest enemy soldier, bringing him to his knees. A quick thrust into the base of his neck removed him from the melee.

Two more Jem'Hadar attacked, one coming in with an overhead chop, and another with a thrust. The terminator used her own weapon to move the thrusting weapon into the path of the chopping kar'takin, entangling both enemies together. Drawing her pistol, Cameron fired one round into each of them directly between the eyes. At point-blank range, their thick hides made little difference against her gun, and they both went down.

The Jem'Hadar she had disarmed had since taken up one of his comrade's weapons, but now he and his two living allies were facing off against a terminator with her own kar'takin in one hand and a firearm in the other. With so little room to maneuver, and with Cameron's small size giving her superior dexterity, the fight was over within twenty seconds.

Advancing to the lift, the TOK-715 prepared to meet an onslaught of fire when she exited onto the bridge. When the door opened, she found two Jem'Hadar waiting for her at point-blank range. A single shot to each of their brains brought them down. Stepping over them, Cameron saw that the bridge was now empty save for one Jem'Hadar – presumably the First – and one Vorta.

"Don't just stand there. Kill her!" the Vorta – a whiny-sounding male – demanded of his lone defender. The Jem'Hadar stalked towards the terminator.

Cameron decided to hurry the encounter and crouched just long enough to pick up the energy pistol of one of the soldiers she had shot in the head. Her new weapon promptly ended the First's life.

Rising to her full height, the Vorta began to stammer out a plea, but Cameron took no heed and shot him with the energy pistol. She walked over to the dead alien and took his headset for her own. Jem'Hadar ships lacked viewscreens, granting visual access only to the First and to the Vorta.

The battle appeared to have shifted since she had been ejected from the Enterprise. The Federation fleet was advancing, and a number of Klingon ships had joined the fray as well. The vessel she was currently aboard was being paid no heed. _It likely appears to be a derelict after being removed from the battle for so long._

The computer console told her that there were still six Jem'Hadar in the Engineering section of the ship. A quick stride over to the environmental controls flooded the section with a biogenic toxin. It was something that most Jem'Hadar were likely unaware of, but the Vorta had the option to release the lethal agent in case his or her soldiers grew unruly or ran out of ketracel white.

Sealing off the bridge, Cameron diverted power from life support to shields and weapons, and she set a course to rejoin the battle. She took care to evade incoming fire from Starfleet and Klingon vessels and took careful shots at other Dominion ships. She didn't fire very many shots, but she made them count. She knew where the weaknesses in the Dominion ships' shields were, and she took full advantage of that knowledge.

Cameron had to bob and weave throughout the hordes of Jem'Hadar ships a number of times to evade the enemy's attempts to destroy her, and she had to adjust her own shield harmonics to appear to be a different vessel than the one she had been piloting a moment before.

Hours passed during which Cameron managed to evade fire from both sides until the Dominion and Cardassian lines began to show signs of weakness. Then, all at once it seemed, the enemy forces crumbled, and the Federation and Klingon ships broke through in waves.

Minutes later, a transmission came in from a Founder stationed on Terok Nor to the fleet. They were to fall back to Cardassian territory and regroup. This could only mean that the battle had been won. The minefield must have held, and the B'hava'el system would now fall back into allied control.

Cameron powered down the ship's weapons and shields, brought life support back online, and set a course towards Deep Space Nine. As the warp engines took her there, Cameron began tinkering with the ship's computer. It was time to craft an insurance policy.

* * *

><p>It had barely been two hours since the Dominion had abandoned the station, but Ops was full of life once again, and Major Kira Nerys of the Bajoran Militia was full of joy despite her heavy workload. The day had been won, but now came the arduous task of directing the hundreds of Federation and Klingon ships to docking ports, pylons, or stationary positions in Bajoran space. There would be a huge line of Captains waiting for repairs, and Kira did not envy the coming paperwork.<p>

Still, the gloom of occupation was past, and the Emissary was on his way back to them. She had to smile at the thought of Jake's father returning to him. A console beeped on the other side of Ops. "There's an unidentified ship coming in," Odo said.

Kira inhaled sharply. Odo had helped them in the end, but not before turning his back on her and the entire Alpha Quadrant. Things between them might be salvageable, but it would take time. "Can you give me anything, Constable?"

"In a moment, Major," he replied. "It's a Jem'Hadar fighter. Only one, and its shields and weapons are down." He turned to look directly at her. "It's hailing us."

_Damn! Can't the Dominion just leave already? Did they forget something, and now they're counting on their non-aggression pact with Bajor to allow them to recover it?_ "Let's get this over with, Constable. On screen."

The ovoid screen above Ops lit up, and to Kira's great surprise, a young human woman was the one wearing the headset. It was hard to tell, but she didn't appear to be in a Starfleet uniform. She thought she could see Jem'Hadar bodies over the young woman's shoulder.

"This is Cameron Phillips, previously of the _USS Enterprise. _Requesting permission to enter Bajoran space."

Kira looked to Odo and jerked her head in a 'get over here right now' gesture. He complied and came to look at the young woman. She was barely more than a girl. "Miss Phillips," Odo began, "can you provide a rank and serial number that we can verify? And do you know me?" Kira was glad he had picked up on her cue. A changeling would not want to deceive Odo. _Well, not so blatantly. A Founder would be more subtle. They _had_ been more subtle._

The girl tilted her head strangely. "No. I don't know you. And I'm not with Starfleet. Captain Picard can vouch for me, as can a number of his Senior Staff."

That was a good enough lead for Kira to go on. "Stand by, Miss Phillips," she said as she cut the transmission and opened a new frequency. "DS9 to Enterprise. Please respond."

The screen lit up once more and Kira saw a darkened and heavily damaged bridge on her view screen. Medics were flitting in and out of her field of vision. "Picard here. What can we do for you, Major?"

"That depends on if you know someone named 'Cameron Phillips,' Captain," Kira said, not giving anything away just yet. She wanted to see how Picard reacted to the name.

Picard could be an intimidating presence, but he seemed more ponderous than anything else at the moment. "Why do you ask?" he said finally.

"Because, Captain," Kira said a bit impatiently, "a young woman by that name has just hailed us from a Jem'Hadar fighter, and is requesting permission to enter Bajoran space. She said that you and your senior staff could vouch for her."

"Is that so?" Picard said, his voice rising a note or two as he spoke. He seemed genuinely taken aback. "I thought she'd died. The deck her quarters were on suffered a hull breach during the battle. Are you saying she's alive?"

"Alive and well enough to kill at least a few Jem'Hadar. Odo, how many life signs are you reading from that ship?"

"Only one, Major, and its human," the constable replied.

Kira looked back to the screen and shrugged sarcastically. "Does that answer your question, Captain?"

Picard almost seemed relieved. "Yes, thank you. If she was able to commandeer an enemy ship, then she's proven herself many times over. I respectfully recommend that she be given permission to enter Bajoran space and to board Deep Space Nine."

_He does know how to be diplomatic, I'll give him that,_ Kira thought. "Understood, Captain. I'll take your recommendation heavy consideration. Kira out," she said before abruptly shutting off the channel. A moment later, she chastised herself. Picard wasn't the reason she was so upset. It was everything with Odo and Rom and the Founder. There were too many things going on all at once.

_And now, I've got a human civilian – a girl – who took over a ship full of Jem'Hadar on her own. Prophets help us all._ "All right, people, back to work! Look on the bright side! We only have another, oh, four hundred more ships or so to take care of? This is nothing, people. Come on!"

* * *

><p>Picard tried not to take Major Kira's abruptness too personally. The woman had been dealing with the Dominion for the past few months in a capacity that likely had her passively on the sidelines when she would rather be fighting. He'd met the woman a few times previously, and she was a woman of strong convictions, and she wasn't afraid to voice them. <em>Very much like Lieutenant Ro<em>, he thought, remembering the Bajoran woman who had served under him before defecting to the Maquis.

_The Maquis, which are now extinct thanks to the Dominion._ He would be denying the truth if he were to say he wasn't disappointed by Ro's betrayal, but he would also be lying if he were to tell himself that he didn't pity her now. He even understood her decision on some level. She had done what she had thought was right, even though it went against Starfleet. _Not many have that kind of personal courage. I wonder what ever happened to her._

But thoughts of Ro Laren would have to wait. There was another headstrong young woman to be taken care of now. "Mr. Data, open a channel to the Jem'Hadar fighter."

"Aye, Captain," the android replied. "Channel open."

"On screen." The viewscreen lit up to reveal Cameron none the worse for wear, a Dominion headset over her eye, and what looked like dead Jem'Hadar in the background. "Miss Phillips. I'm relieved to see that you are unharmed."

"Thank you, Captain," the young woman said. "I'm also glad to see that you're all right. You must have taken heavy casualties, though. I'm sorry for your loss."

_She says it like it's personal for me. But isn't it in a way?_ "Thank you, Miss Phillips. Not just for your kindness, but for your courage and honor. Starfleet owes you a great debt of gratitude."

"Do you?" she answered, almost as if challenging him.

"Of course," Picard said gently, as if it were obvious. "You captured an enemy ship, which is no small feat, given our enemy. This could provide us with a great deal of information."

Cameron seemed to glare at him from under her headset. "You're forgetting, Captain, that I'm not a member of Starfleet. I have no obligation to turn this ship over to you. It's mine now."

"I beg your pardon?" The claim was so outrageous that Picard felt himself exercising a great deal of restraint just to keep from losing his cool. He'd lost too many people in just a few short hours, and his patience was already stretched thin. One woman claiming ownership rights over an enemy vessel in a time of war was _not_ something he wanted to deal with. "That's absurd, Miss Phillips. Prepare for transport back to the _Enterprise_ immediately!"

"Very well, Captain. But I've encrypted this ship's computers. It's inaccessible without my authorization. You need to convince me that Starfleet deserves this ship before I agree to give it to you."

_Damn, but the girl still isn't ready to trust us yet! And how in the world did she get onto that ship in the first place?_ "Your actions are bordering on treason, Miss Phillips. Consider your actions carefully."

The girl just shook her head. "Treason implies a betrayal of loyalty. I never pledged my loyalty to Starfleet or the Federation. I wasn't even born in the Federation, so I'm not betraying my own nation. I helped you because doing so helps me. I'm still not convinced that your side is my side, Captain."

"That may be so, Cameron," Picard said sternly, "but for now, you are to stand by and prepare for transport back to the _Enterprise_. We will likely be stationed at Deep Space Nine for a while longer, so perhaps you'll take the opportunity to get to know the Bajorans. They are not members of the Federation, but they have been working alongside Starfleet for the past five years in peaceful coexistence. I suspect you have a lot to learn from them," he lectured the girl.

She simply titled her head to the side in that infuriating imitation of Data that she tended to do. "We'll see. Cameron out." The screen went blank again.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard slumped back down into his chair and rubbed his temples. _Cameron Phillips, what am I going to do with you?_

* * *

><p>As is the case in most realities, I don't own Star Trek or Terminator. There might be an alternate timeline where I do own one or both, but I haven't been there yet.<p>

Many Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. I hope to hear more of your feedback.

Next Chapter: A stroll down DS9's promenade


	5. Chapter V: Love at First Fight

Chapter V: Love At First Fight

* * *

><p>"This is ridiculous! Who the hell does that girl think she is?"<p>

"That's a hard question to answer, Captain Sisko," Picard replied, trying his best not to let the other man's heated emotions influence his own. Deanna had warned him that emotions could be contagious, and he had to work to keep his own feelings from getting out of hand. "Miss Phillips has made some claims that are, quite frankly, very disturbing."

"What claims?" Vice Admiral William Ross asked. The three Starfleet officers were gathered together in Captain Sisko's office on the space station, along with the Klingon General, Martok.

Picard had been reluctant to share too much with anyone, but Martok was hardly likely to be part of any Starfleet conspiracy, Sisko was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, and Ross was an old friend who kept insisting that Picard be promoted to the admiralty.

"She claims," Jean-Luc began slowly, "that she was found on Earth on Stardate 50893 by some clandestine part of Starfleet that experimented on her and tried to turn her into some sort of agent or tool. She resisted and escaped, and we found her."

Martok grunted. "I find it hard to believe that a single girl could escape if the Federation was intent on holding her."

"This is assuming," Sisko said, anger obviously simmering just beneath the surface, "that Starfleet condones such evil things. Is that what you are implying, Picard?"

"No, Captain Sisko," the elder Captain said, ignoring the minor sleight. "That is what _she_ is implying. And she has shown definite signs of being more than just a normal human. Are all of you familiar with my second officer, Lt. Commander Data?"

Admiral Ross nodded. Sisko shook his head. "I've heard Chief O'Brien and Commander Worf talk about him, but I've never met him," the other Captain said.

"I, too, have heard stories about Data from Worf," Martok said. "I do not believe it is possible for a machine to have a sense of honor, but Worf does, and his opinion matters a great deal to me. It is time I met the man and judge for myself."

Picard nodded. "Then you know what Data is. He is a machine with a superb intellect and physical strength far greater than many species. And he was at Cameron's mercy when she engaged him in hand-to-hand combat."

"And this same woman boarded a Jem'Hadar ship and killed the entire crew all on her own?" Martok asked. "She would be a warrior worthy of song, if we could prove she was acting with honor and not selfishness," he growled. "Just how did she even board that ship in the first place?"

"That's a good question," Sisko agreed, the anger starting to drain out of his voice. "You haven't said much, Admiral. What do you think?"

"Well," Ross began, "if she was 'found' as she says, and not born into the Federation, which she also says, then she isn't a Federation citizen, and therefore has no claim to the protection offered by the Constitution. If she's acting against us, we can detain her as an enemy combatant."

"With all due respect, Admiral," Picard said, growing worried, "Cameron has given no indication that she means us any harm. If she had really wanted to do us damage, then she could have done so. The fact that she didn't speaks to her character."

"Bah! The girl is obviously an enemy of the Dominion," Martok insisted. "If she doesn't trust Starfleet, then we should appeal to her warrior's spirit. Show her that we share a common enemy. If she isn't a citizen, then make her one! If she doesn't want to be one, then convince her to become one! You're letting this girl dictate your actions for you. If you want to take charge of the situation, then do so!"

Sisko chuckled. "Well said, General. I would hate for a bureaucracy to get in the way of something this important. And if she is telling the truth about Starfleet experimenting on her- Well, quite frankly, I don't believe that. That's not what the Federation is."

"Hm." Picard was solemn, but it was time to trust these people. "She came to us as a fugitive. Starfleet Command told us that a fugitive had escaped from a Starfleet facility, and told us to deal with her by any means necessary. We weren't told who she was or what she had done. Only that she was to be killed with no questions asked."

"What?" Sisko was wearing a face of angry disbelief. "You're not one to exaggerate such things, Captain," he said in a dangerous growl, "and after Leyton's attempted coup, I don't think I can honestly say that Starfleet is above such things anymore."

"You're contradicting yourself, Captain," Martok said to Sisko. "A moment ago you said that the Federation wouldn't-"

"I know what I said!" Sisko protested angrily. "But that was wishful thinking. I was telling myself what I wanted to believe. The truth is looking more and more to be something more sinister." He took a deep breath. "What is happening to us, people?"

"The Dominion happened to us, Ben," Admiral Ross said. "And we're still at an impasse. She encrypted that ship incredibly well. We can't so much as get the panels to light up. I'm also dumbstruck as to how she even got on board in the first place, but somehow I doubt she'd tell us."

"Not all of us, Admiral," Picard said carefully. "But it's the Federation she doesn't trust. Specifically humans. Curious, I know, but from what I can tell, her captors were all human. So maybe it shouldn't be a Starfleet officer who approaches her," he said, looking intently at General Martok.

The one-eyed general smiled and chuckled. "If you are asking me to convince a warrior to join us in this glorious battle, then it is a challenge I welcome! But a warrior looking for enemies is bound to find them, even when they are none to be found. I will talk to her, but I will approach her when the moment is right. Where is the girl now?"

"She's been exploring the station," Picard said. "And that is something else that could hamper our efforts. We are in Bajoran space, and they've given her permission to be here. Any effort to arrest her would involve a lengthy extradition process. I don't think we want that."

"No, we don't," Sisko agreed. "I'm perfectly content to wait on General Martok to speak with her. But if I'm not mistaken, General, there are more pressing matters on your plate. There's a wedding to be had!"

"Indeed, Captain!" Martok said. "But I confess, with my wife needing to approve the marriage, I think I would rather face the slayer of Jem'Hadar before Dax meets Sirella. Marriage is a battlefield all its own. Worf has no idea what he's in for."

"Mr. Worf always relished a challenge," Picard retorted. "But every man has his match. Wasn't Jadzia Dax once Curzon Dax?"

Sisko smiled a broad white grin that shown all the more brightly against his dark skin. "Yes."

"I see," Picard said lightly. "Well, Worf has long been a trusted colleague and friend. But this time, he's on his own."

* * *

><p>Jacob Isaac Sisko sat at the bar in Quark's establishment, stylus in hand, his mind drawing a blank. <em>Come on, Jake! You've just been witness to months of Dominion occupation, helped a resistance movement, been incarcerated, and maybe even slated for execution! This is the stuff that epics are made of. So why am I suddenly stuck with writer's block?<em>

He turned to the person sitting to his right. "You were here for the occupation too. "Where would you start a story?"

Morn looked at Jake for a moment, shrugged, and went back to his drink.

Jake shook his head. _Morn almost never shuts up. Why does he have to choose _now_ to get so thoughtful and silent?_

"Hey."

Jake turned to look at the person sitting to his left, and was surprised to find an oddly-dressed, but very attractive girl about his age. "Hey," he said back to her, not quite sure who she was or why she was talking to him.

"What's your name?" she asked with a smile on her face.

_Is she flirting with me?_ "I'm Jake," he said.

"Cameron," she answered, still smiling. She gestured to his PADD. "Work?"

Jake chuckled. "That depends. I suppose I am a correspondent for the Federation News Service, but I like to think of myself more as an author. But," he tapped his head with one finger. "Writer's block."

"Sounds like fun," the girl named Cameron said. "I just got here, and I'm still learning my way around. I was hoping to try out the holosuite, but I don't have any money."

"Hm. Yeah, that's a problem when a Ferengi owns the place," Jake said sagely. "My dad and I have a regular booking for a holosuite once a week, but he's not able to make it very often these days. The war and all."

"I'm sorry," Cameron said, and she seemed to mean it. "What do you and your father do?"

Jake smiled and laughed. "An ancient game. You've probably never heard of it."

The cute brunette crossed her arms and put on a mischievous smirk. "Try me."

"All right, I guess. Baseball. Heard of it?"

Cameron brought up her hand to her mouth as if holding a microphone. "Bottom of the ninth. Two outs. Full count. Tied game. Here comes the pitch. It's a hit! That ball is soaring! Will it make it over the right field fence? That ball is going! Going! _Gone!_" She smiled at Jake, and then she winked at him. "Does that answer your question?"

_Wow! Cute girl, my age, seems to like me, knows about baseball. Jackpot, anyone?_ "That's amazing! I only know one other person who even plays baseball, other than my dad, and she's a freighter captain, so she comes and goes." _God, I hope I don't sound like an idiot!_ "Would you like to try out the program sometime?"

"I'd love to!" she said brightly.

_What a musical voice she has! I wonder what position she plays. _"I don't suppose that's your uniform, is it?" Her clothes were _really _strange. Was there a story there?

She shrugged. "No, it's not a uniform. Just clothes that remind me of home."

"Ah. I understand," Jake said kindly.

"Do you?" she asked lightly.

"Yeah, I think I do. This is a strange place, full of so many people from so many different cultures. I first came here when I was only about fourteen or so. Before that, I'd been living on Mars, and before that-" Jake trailed off, wondering how he had gotten to this topic. "Before that, I was living with my mom and dad on the _Saratoga_." Being reminded of his mom and losing her to the Borg was not something that Jake liked to dwell on. He found himself mutely looking at his PADD.

Warm and soft fingers wrapped around his hand. "I'm sorry for your loss," Cameron said gently. She meant it to, Jake could tell. "It's not easy to lose someone you love."

He looked up into her eyes, which held a look that he knew well from looking in the mirror. Cameron had also lost someone she had cared about. This wasn't some counselor telling him empty words that were processed in a file labeled 'for family deaths.' This was a kindred spirit sitting next to him.

"Barkeep!" a Klingon called from behind him. "More blood wine! Now!"

Jake sighed and shrugged at Cameron. Hopefully the obviously inebriated warriors would be on their way quickly.

"What are you looking at, boy?" one of the first Klingon's companions said, rounding on Jake.

"Me? Nothing. I'm just talking with a friend, that's all."

"Out of my way, boy! I'm thirsty!" a third Klingon bellowed, shoving Jake off his stool onto the floor.

"Gentlemen, please!" Quark called, rushing over to the bar from a table he had just been serving. "There's no need for violence!" In a quieter voice, he asked a waiter, "How many drinks have they had, Broik?"

"Uh, past the limit, Mr. Quark," Broik answered sheepishly.

Jake winced. Quark set a limit on how much any one customer could drink to avoid both legal trouble and violence, especially with Klingons. And if the Klingons were _already_ past the very liberal limit that Quark set, then things could get ugly.

"Ah." Quark was usually one to berate his servers quite loudly when they disappointed him, but there was a time and place for everything, and right now in front of three very drunken Klingons was neither. "I'm afraid we're fresh out at the moment, gentlemen, but I do hope you'll come back tomorrow."

The first of the trio grabbed Quark by his collar. "You _will_ give us more blood wine. Now! Or I will sate myself with your blood instead!"

"Let him go."

Jake, Quark, and the three Klingons turned to stare at Cameron, who had gotten to her feet and was now staring at the unruly lot with a stern look on her face that was totally at odds with the charming girl Jake had met just minutes ago.

"Don't give me orders, girl!" one of the Klingons yelled, swinging his fist at her.

"Cameron!" Jake cried out, more than a little worried at what three drunken Klingons would do to his newfound friend.

The girl did not crumple under the Klingon's fist, however. She actually _caught it_ with one hand, and held it steady. "Don't be a freak," she told the angry warrior.

_That was not a smart thing to say_, Jake thought. And indeed, Cameron now had three very angry Klingons surrounding her.

She still held one of their fists. She twisted it around as if it were nothing, and the warrior howled in pain as she dislocated his arm. Another one grabbed her from behind in a brutal bear hug, but she kicked out behind her, and the cry that the second Klingon let out made almost every male in Quark's wince as if they themselves had been the ones kicked. That particular howl of pain was one that resonated on a deep level with all mammalian males.

The third Klingon shoved Cameron off to the side, and Jake found himself being pulled to his feet by the scruff of his neck, which suddenly had a _d'k tahg _pointed at his throat. _Oh, crap. This just got too real for me!_

"Surrender!" the malevolent Klingon shouted, or your_ par'Mach'kai_ will suffer for it!"

_What? Did he just infer that Cameron and I are lovers? Wait a minute. Why I am concerned about that right now? This guy has a knife at my throat! How'd he get a knife here anyway? Odo's pretty strict about no weapons on the Promenade. Oh, this is not good!_

"All right!" Cameron cried out. "I surrender. Do what you want to me, just leave him alone!"

The Klingon holding Jake chuckled maliciously and threw him to the ground – again. "I think I _will_ do what I want with you," he said as he advanced on the girl.

"Cameron!" Jake called out. "Don't do this! Run!" he cried, temporarily forgetting that she had already taken care of two other Klingons twice her size.

He could only see the Klingon's backside now, and it promptly bent forward as a clanging sound went out, and the drunken warrior fell down to the floor sideways. Jake saw that Cameron's hand was extended in a fist.

She walked over to him. "Are you all right, Jake?" she asked worriedly.

_Am I all right? Good question. Can I get back to you?_ "Um, yeah, I think so. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am," she said simply, but she was smiling a bright smile. "I'm just glad you are."

After a few moments, Odo and a security team came rushing into the bar. Odo sighed. "Quark," he called out. "What happened this time?"

"Constable! I'm so glad you made it! Better late than never, so they say. Well, you see, these three drunken louts were trying to force the issue of having some extra drinks. I thought they had had enough already, so I asked them to leave. They got physical, and were it not for this young lady's timely intervention, young Mr. Sisko and I might both be dead. I mean, I've been held up by the collar so many times I've lost count. Jake, on the other hand, was held at knifepoint, but young Cameron here mopped the floor with all three of them by herself. Quite the feat, I must say. I don't suppose you'd be interested in a business partnership, miss?"

"Quark," Odo said sternly, "if I vole fights are illegal, then I imagine that sentients fighting each other will also be banned. And if it isn't, it soon will be." He then turned to Cameron. "Miss, just how did you learn how to fight well enough to take on three trained Klingon warriors?"

Jake was wondering that as well. Cameron, though, simply shrugged. "They were drunk. They made mistakes. And I had a tough life. I've had to look out for myself."

"Uh huh." Odo seemed to be mulling things over in his head. _Well, in his _mind_, at least,_ Jake thought._ Does he have a brain in this form? And is it in his head?_

"I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the security office so I can take your statement. You too, Mr. Sisko."

"Uh, yeah. Sure thing, Odo," Jake said.

The constable nodded. "Very good. Follow me."

The younger Sisko nodded as he and Cameron set off behind Odo. From behind him, back at the bar, he thought he could hear people talking around the third Klingon.

"Do you see that? There's a _hole_ in his armor!" one patron said loud enough for Jake to hear clearly.

Jake looked back at Cameron, who was smiling at him softly. _Cute, strong, considerate, _and_ she likes baseball. _"I think I'm in love."_ Damn. Did I just say that out loud?_

* * *

><p>The mission that the terminator had set for herself was proceeding better than she had anticipated, all things considered. Jake Sisko was on friendly terms with many of the Senior Staff of Deep Space Nine, and was likely familiar with many of its inner workings, despite being a civilian. He would be a useful asset.<p>

More than that, however, Jake was proving to be an insight into humanity that Cameron had not expected. Maybe it was because he wasn't part of Starfleet, but Jake was a nice young man. He was thoughtful and considerate. He was not a soldier. Not like her John. He was sincere, genuine, and wore his heart on his sleeve.

Not like her John.

Cameron's processors equated with Jake a positive output that equated to something resembling happiness. Still, he was nothing more than a tool to further assess this alien future. Deep Space Nine was very different than the covert facility where she had been held. That was a dead place with cold walls that reeked of only humans.

This place was bright and lively and full of warmth. Diversity was the norm on DS9, but Cameron wondered if it would stay that way if Bajor ever did join the Federation. But that date was further off than the Federation would have liked. About a year ago, Bajor had been all set to join the United Federation of Planets, but Captain Benjamin Sisko had insisted that doing so would doom Bajor.

_Captain Sisko actually cares about the Bajoran people. If there are others like him in Starfleet, then I may have been too quick to judge this century's humans_. She followed Jake into the security office and stood in front of the desk which the security chief – the Changeling who was not a Founder, Odo – sat behind. He started to question Jake, occasionally asking Cameron to verify his account or to provide her own.

About halfway through their tale of the altercation, a team of deputies came into the security office escorting the three Klingons – hands bound – to the holding cells in back. Behind them was a very agitated General Martok, who had just been promoted to head up Klingon operations in the area.

His one good eye fell on Jake and Cameron. "Are you the one who put three of my men in jail?" he asked gruffly.

"They were drunk," Jake said indignantly. "They put themselves there."

Martok chuckled. "I'm glad to see you're all right, Mr. Sisko, but let me rephrase the question. Are you, girl, the one who beat the _khest_ out of those three buffoons of mine?"

"Yes," Cameron said. "That was me."

"Can this wait, General?" Odo asked impatiently. "I am trying to take their statements. Or do you have something to add to the record?"

"Only this, Constable: the girl is a warrior. Treat her with the same respect you would treat any of my men." He looked towards the door to the holding cells. "Treat her like any of my good, honorable, _sober_ men." With a menacing chuckle, the Klingon general turned and left.

"Well, this is interesting," Odo said. "General Martok is a hard man to impress. Knocking out three drunken Klingons is no small feat for a girl your size, but hardly enough to warrant Martok's personal favor. Have you been getting into any other fights that I should be aware of, Miss Phillips?"

"I fought in Operation Return. Maybe he heard about that," she said honestly.

"You _what_?" Jake said with obvious surprise. "You must have forgotten to mention that."

Cameron shrugged. "It would have killed the good mood in the air," she said with a smile.

Jake seemed to consider this for a moment before laughing. "I guess it would have," he agreed.

"This is all very touching, and I'm sure you both would rather be somewhere else right now," Odo said impatiently. "So can we _please_ finish this report so you can get out of my office?"

* * *

><p>Martok watched through the window as the Sisko boy and his new friend gave their testimony to Odo. It was hard to trust any Changeling, particularly after being replaced by one himself. But there were many here who attested to his honor and loyalty, and the General was not about to question so many over his own personal prejudices.<p>

Finally, after the constable had run the two youngsters through the bureaucratic nightmare that was his daily work, they left the security office. Now was the time. "Girl," he called after her. She turned to face him, obviously knowing who he was referring to. "A word with you. Now."

She turned to look at Jake, who suddenly looked worried. "Are you two about to fight each other?" the younger Sisko asked.

"Perhaps," Martok said. "But not today. Warriors must prepare their minds as well as their bodies. Physical combat is only one part of battle. I wish to speak with your friend about some things."

"It's all right, Jake. I won't be long. Wait for me at the replimat?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. I'll get going then, General," he said, seeming to be in a hurry to get out of his way.

"You do that, boy," Martok said, and he chuckled a bit at the fear in the younger Sisko's eyes. Fear could be a good motivator. It could turn the meekest of people into formidable opponents. Warriors were not the only great people in Klingon culture. They valued song and poetry as much as anyone else, and Captain Sisko's son was an artist who knew of war. He would make a good life for himself.

"General," the girl said calmly. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Indeed. Walk with me, girl." He began to stride forward, and despite her petite frame, the girl matched his gait easily. "Don't lead that boy after you," he warned her. "He's not a warrior. Not like you. I walked the halls of that ship you brought here. I saw what you did to the Jem'Hadar."

To the girl's credit, she did not give anything away on her face as she continued to match Martok's strides. "People can look at the same thing and see something different. What did you see?" she asked.

"I saw a predator who knew her prey and never doubted for a moment that she would emerge victorious."

"You saw wrongly," she said bluntly. "Success is never certain. I simply never considered failure to be a possibility. Failure means death."

"Does that mean that victory is life?" Martok challenged the girl, snarling the words.

The girl, Cameron, stopped walking and stared up at Martok, unblinking. "I don't fight for victory's sake," she said, refuting the notion that she lived by a Jem'Hadar creed. "I fight because it's what I do," she stated simply, but with an underlying force to her words. "It's all I do."

"That's not good enough!" Martok bellowed. "A warrior must have a reason to fight! Without a reason for fighting, she is nothing but a common brute. You obviously have no love for the Dominion. Would you kill my people as easily as you kill the Jem'Hadar?"

"No. I was loyal to a cause once. I was loyal to a person." Martok narrowed his one-eyed gaze, but inwardly he was surprised that the girl had shared this much with him. "But that cause and that person are long since dead and gone. I have nothing to fight for. Not yet."

"Not _yet?_" Martok growled. "What are you waiting for? A warrior who hesitates-"

"I am not hesitating," Cameron said softly. "I am studying. I am trying to decide if the Federation is worth fighting for. If it isn't, I will look for another cause worth fighting for."

Martok growled at the girl to hide his worry. A warrior wandering without a path was a danger to herself and to all those around her. He started walking again, and she kept up. "This cause you once fought for and the person who was your ally: tell me about them."

Brown eyes gazed back at him, and Martok was not quite sure if those eyes had blinked yet or not. "The world had ended," she said. "Fire fell from the sky. Half of the population was dead. But that was just the beginning. The survivors faced a relentless enemy. This enemy did not eat, it did not sleep. It did not know pity or remorse or fear. It would not stop, ever, until everyone was dead. I fought to protect the survivors so that one day, they could live normal lives again. The man I followed was our leader. And he was also more."

_What world do you come from, girl? What is this tale you speak of? Is it a riddle for me to solve? Or are you speaking literally? It sounds like a tale of gods doing battle. But the gods are dead. We killed them. _"What became of this conflict?" he asked. "Did you prevail?"

"I don't know," she said, suddenly sounding uncertain. "I was sent away on a mission. But something went wrong. I was found by people from Starfleet. They took me and did things to me. They wanted to make me one of them. I escaped. And now I'm here."

"Why don't you complete your mission?" Martok suggested. "You have a worthy ship. You can take it to help bring honor and victory to your people."

"I can't," Cameron protested too calmly. "The fight was long ago. I can't go back. It's too late."

They reached the upper walkway and were now looking out the vast window at where the wormhole might appear. "You can't?" the General challenged, "Or you won't?"

"I can't," the girl said with steely certainty.

"Hm." The girl had a formidable spirit, Martok could tell. But if that spirit was propelled forward without direction, it could rebound upon her and any number of others. "You said you were deciding whether or not to fight for the Federation. What could convince you to do so?"

"I don't know. Unity, strength, goodness, sacrifice, kindness, other things. It's hard to say, exactly."

Martok nodded. _This sounds like the Federation that I have come to know and fight beside, but it isn't what she knows._ "And what if it isn't those things?" he challenged. "What will you do?"

Cameron turned away from the window to look up at the one-eyed General's face. "If the Federation isn't what it claims to be," she said without raising her voice, "then it must be terminated."

* * *

><p>I don't own Star Trek or Terminator or any of the characters contained therein.<p>

Reviews, comments, and suggestions are always welcome.

If anyone feels up to beta-reading this story, I would be very grateful for any help.

Thanks to all of you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!

Next Chapter: Picard faces some _very_ serious legal trouble.


	6. Chapter VI: The Trial Resumes

Chapter VI: The Trial Resumes

* * *

><p>Over a week after Operation Return's success, Captain Picard was still overseeing the various repairs and personnel transfers that were part of the package of taking such a beating as they did. There were too many deaths and life-changing injuries all throughout the Federation's fleets. The Klingons were more resilient to injury than most of the species that comprised the Federation, and Jean-Luc found himself feeling all the more grateful to Mr. Worf for the crucial role he had played in bringing the Klingons into the battle.<p>

_But for all of his sacrifice, Chancellor Gowron has been far less than grateful._ It was true that Picard himself had been Gowron's Arbiter of Succession, and Picard was positive that the current Chancellor of the Klingon Empire was a far better man than Duras, who would have brought chaos to the Federation long before the Dominion. But more than Picard, Gowron owed his position to Worf above all others.

_And how did he repay him? He took everything away from him._ Gowron was a man of petty whims, and when Worf had refused to take part in the war with the Cardassians, the Chancellor had stripped him of his lands, his titles, and everything that the Klingon leader supposed made him a Klingon. He had told Worf quite frankly that if he did not agree to Gowron's terms, 'You will have nothing!'

But Worf knew better, thankfully, and proved himself to be the truer Klingon. His reply had been only three words, but they had been the right ones. 'Except my honor,' he had said. After all of that, it had been Worf himself that convinced Gowron to back down from a war with the Federation, over the objections of the Founder that had been impersonating General Martok.

_But that wasn't enough, was it?_ Worf had been stuck wearing the crest of the House of Mogh, which for all intents and purposes no longer existed. The real General Martok had proven to be a man of great character, thankfully, and had accepted Worf into his house. The move was far more than a gesture among Klingons, and Worf had accepted without a second thought.

Picard's lips turned upward in a grim smile. _That was before he had ever met the Lady Sirella._ Martok's wife was a hard woman to impress, even by Klingon standards. And now his non-Klingon fiancée had to earn the right to marry into the family from the Lady of the House of Martok. _Good luck, both of you._

A small beep at his console indicated an incoming transmission from Deep Space Nine. Picard sat up straight and answered the call. Captain Sisko was sitting behind his desk on the other end of the call. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad moment, Captain," he inquired politely.

_It's more courtesy than I deserve from him_, Picard thought sadly. He remembered his first meeting with then-Commander Sisko, and the discovery that he had been the one to tear the younger man's family apart as Locutus of Borg. That was a scar that would likely never fully heal. "Not at all, Captain. What can I do for you?"

"I was just talking with General Martok about a recent incident involving Cameron Phillips. I thought you might want to know the details."

_Oh no. Not again._ "Very well, Captain. Would you like me to beam over to DS9?" Picard offered.

"I don't think that will be necessary. The General is right here. I think it would be best if he gave you his own account with as little delay as possible," Sisko replied.

Picard nodded. "Very well. Put him on, please."

Sisko simply got up from his seat, and Jean-Luc marveled at how far he had come from the uncertain young man he had met six years previously. _He's more decisive now, and ready to take action. I can see what Mr. Worf sees in him._

As General Martok took a seat, Picard reflected on how little he knew of the leader of Worf's new house from his own experience, and he looked forward to learning more about the man. "Captain Picard," Martok began. "You recall that you enlisted my aid in approaching Cameron Phillips, one warrior to another?"

"I do indeed, General," Picard replied. "I take it you've spoken with her?"

"I have, Captain, and I thought it best to tell you what I have discovered about her. We all knew that the girl was a warrior, but she claims to have been one since before Starfleet 'found' her, as she put it."

"You're saying that she's seen battle before? At such a young age?"

"Not battle, Captain. War. Against what she claims to be a ruthless enemy bent on nothing short of annihilation. She was a survivor against 'fire raining from the sky' – those were her words – that killed half of her world's population."

"An odd metaphor," Picard noted. "Miss Phillips doesn't strike me as the poetic sort. I'm guessing that this is a way for her to avoid telling us the whole truth."

"Perhaps, Captain," Martok conceded. "But the enemy she spoke of facing could have easily described the Jem'Hadar, but she never said whether or not it was the Dominion."

"And just how did she describe her enemy, General Martok?"

"She made a point of saying that they did not eat or sleep," Martok said carefully, "And that they did not know pity, fear, or remorse. I believe those were her words."

Picard nodded. "That certainly sounds like the Jem'Hadar," he agreed. "Did she elaborate any further on the nature of this enemy?"

"No. But she did say that she was sent on a mission. She wouldn't say what it was, but she did say that she was found by Starfleet before she could carry it out. She obviously did not expect to be anywhere near where she was found."

"A mission, you say? Do you think this mission of hers could endanger us or anyone around her?" Picard was now quite worried. If Miss Phillips had been on a mission, then perhaps she had been locked up for a reason. _But that wouldn't explain the experiments she claims to have been a victim to._

Martok shook his head. "I don't think so, Captain. She told me that her fight was in the past. She made it sound like an ancient thing, and that it was too late for her to make a difference."

"The past," Picard repeated, feeling a cold wave of understanding sweep over him. _Is she a time traveler? She appeared on the same day that the Borg went back in time. Did we influence the timeline in a way we didn't intend?_ "So her mission is over," he said at last. "What do you think she will do now?"

"Mm. That is hard to say," Martok said carefully. "She seems to be taking stock of the Federation. She's wants to see it live up to its ideals, and she is far from convinced that it does so. She's judging you and all of your kind, Captain Picard. She's testing you, and she means to destroy the Federation if it falls short of her standards."

Before Picard could respond to that particular outrageous statement, Martok huffed and made clear he wanted to continue speaking. "She is a strong woman, Captain, make no mistake. But she is alone. Even Kahless was nothing without the Empire he led to greatness. Cameron may be a formidable warrior, but she is still only one woman. Overestimating a potential threat can be just as dangerous as underestimating it."

Picard nodded. "Yes, of course, you are correct, General. Do you think she is an imminent threat to anyone in the fleet or on the station?"

Martok shook his head. "No, she doesn't seem to want to cause trouble. She's content to observe for now, as far as I can tell. But just as she watches you, watch her closely, Captain. She could be a great ally if you convince her to be one. But don't underestimate her resolve if things don't go as you would like."

"Thank you, General. I'll be sure to heed that advice," Picard said sincerely.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Captain." The Klingon turned to look away from the screen. "Did you want to put in anything else, Captain?" Martok asked of Sisko. Picard didn't hear the reply, but Martok turned to face him after a brief moment. "If you'll excuse me, then, I have to see to the _Rotarran's_ repairs. Martok out." The screen on Picard's desk went blank as the transmission ended.

The mention of repairs brought Picard back down to Earth. _Well, back down to the _Enterprise, _in any case._ There was work to be done, and it was his job to oversee it.

Standing up, Picard strode out from behind his desk and through the door out of his Ready Room-

* * *

><p>-and into a nightmare. Looking around, Picard realized that he was no longer on the <em>Enterprise<em>. Wherever he was, it was not a happy place. The sky was dark and thick with ash, and he could not quite tell if it was day or night. Rubble was strewn every which way. Bits of stone and metal and glass littered the ground. There was no sign of plant or animal life of any kind.

A gust of wind began to pick up around Picard, growing stronger by the second. A strobe light shown down upon Picard, and he looked up, hand over his eyes, to see a strange aircraft hovering above him. It was a sleek metal craft with a turbine on either wing. _Where does the pilot sit?_ he wondered.

A growing hum-buzz sound was Picard's only warning that the craft was hostile, and he barely avoided a blast of hot plasma. It was close, and he could feel the heat of the bolt. Another blast's impact sent the Captain flying through the air to land on his rear.

With nowhere to run, Picard looked around desperately for a weapon. Anything to defend himself. But all he saw were bones. Especially skulls. They seemed to gather together unnaturally in piles.

Atop one of these miniature mountains of skulls was a horrific sight. It was a skeleton made of metal, with glowing red eyes. It stalked downward from its perch of human bones towards Picard, who desperately scrambled away from it. _If only I was a younger man,_ he thought disparagingly.

The metal skeleton held a large, nasty-looking gun, and it raised the barrel to point directly at Picard's own head. _My skull is about to join these others, isn't it?_

The metal thing tilted its head to the side just in time to see a black four-wheeled vehicle of some kind crash into it and knock it away. Picard stumbled to his feet, saying a silent prayer of thanks to whatever had led his rescuer to him.

The truck backed up, the passenger door opened, and Picard instantly rescinded his prayer of gratitude when he saw the driver.

"Come with me if you want to live, Jean-Luc," Q taunted from inside the vehicle, a very familiar smirk adorning his face.

"What is it this time, Q?" Picard demanded of the mischievous being. "I do not have time for your games!"

"You think this is a game, Jean-Luc? You have no idea what you're talking about," he said with a laugh.

"And you do, of course," Picard said, not liking his options, which were very likely non-existent. Q's arm was outstretched towards him, and after a moment of internal debate between his logical and prideful halves, Picard shelved his ego and boarded the strange vehicle.

"Close the door behind you, Jean-Luc," Q chided him. "Really, you probably think that doors were first invented to open and close on their own."

Picard slammed his door closed and looked at Q with an 'are you satisfied now?' look on his face.

"Don't forget to buckle your seatbelt, _mon capitan_. Please tell me you know what a seatbelt is?"

Picard did know what a seatbelt was, having been in off-road ground vehicles on occasion for archaeology digs, but decided not to dignify Q's question with any answer other than to comply and fasten the harness over his shoulder and waist.

"Now then, Q, are you going to tell me what's going on? Where are we?" Picard asked, trying to keep his voice level despite his frustration.

"You don't recognize your own family vineyard, Jean-Luc? Your father and brother would be spinning in their graves if they'd ever been born. But, alas, we have to go back quite a few more generations to get to the root of all of this," Q said airily, waving a hand around to indicate the wasteland surrounding them.

"What is this double-talk?" Picard demanded as Q began to drive the vehicle forward. "Is this another temporal anomaly to be taken care of? After the last time I saw you-"

"The last time I saw you," Q said sternly, losing any hint of playfulness, "I told you what saved humanity. It wasn't the anomaly, Jean-Luc. It was you learning to expand your mind beyond its self-imposed limitations. Try to open that vault you've sealed so tightly behind you and look at what's outside right now."

_This is not good,_ Picard thought with a sense of dread. _Q has always been an imp, but underneath that mischievous exterior is a cunning and ruthless mind that somehow has humanity's future at heart. And whenever Q gets serious, there is always a reason behind it._

The Captain of the _Enterprise_ looked out at the field of ash in front of him. "When are we, Q?" he finally asked.

"We haven't traveled through time, Jean-Luc. This is the same day that you woke up to this morning. But in this little dimension of reality, something happened that's missing where you come from. Oh, look over there!" Q said brightly.

Picard looked off to the side and saw a small platoon of metal skeletons herding a large swath of people into what looked like an aircraft designed to carry heavy cargo.

"Mm, yes. Humans, Klingons, Cardassians, Vorta, Hirogen, Krenim. All slaves being rounded up and sent to be fuel the fires," the omnipotent being said gravely.

"Dear God," Picard breathed, not believing his eyes. "Is this the Borg's doing? Did we miss something?"

"Oh, you missed quite a bit during your little tirade in the past. It brings to mind memories of you telling me how _evolved_ your species had come. And there you were, screaming for petty revenge against a foe that didn't even care about your silly need for vengeance. It's a good thing you had that woman to talk you down, and she was what you would call a 'primitive.' What was her name again?"

"Lily," Picard said, remembering the brave young woman he'd met in the past. "Lily Sloane."

"Sloane? Really, you don't say? Funny how things like that happen," Q remarked idly.

"What does she have to do with all of this?" Picard asked.

"Her? Nothing. I was just thinking out loud," Q said, waving a dismissive hand. "But speaking of young women, I hear you have your hands full with a certain troublesome girl. I have to give her credit for picking up the reins."

"Are you talking about Cameron?" the Captain asked, suddenly very attentive. "What does she have to do with this?"

"Quite a bit more than you realize. Oh, look! We're expected!"

Picard turned to look forward and saw crowds of people from any number of species lined up on either side of the vehicle. Humans, Klingons, Romulans, Tholians, and a host of other species both familiar and unfamiliar were shouting, gesticulating, or otherwise protesting the people traveling between them.

"Q," Picard said silently, the feeling of dread growing ever stronger, "what is this all about?"

"What? You mean you haven't figured it out yet? Cameron Phillips is filling in for me at my day job, Jean-Luc."

* * *

><p>There was a flash, and Picard found himself standing in a very familiar room that he'd hoped never to see again. People of all species filled the courtroom, shouting epithets that formed an incomprehensible cacophony of anger.<p>

And floating towards him out of the mysterious black void was the chair holding Q, once again clad in his judge's robes.

"Did you think it was coincidence, Jean-Luc, that someone other than yours truly might think to put humanity through its paces? You're not as great as you think you are, _mon capitan. _And like I said, the trial never ends."

"What are you implying, Q? Is Cameron part of your Continuum?"

Q snorted. "Hardly. She's even more primitive than you and your fellow ape-descendants. But no less dangerous."

Picard wasn't sure if things made more sense or if everything was even more obfuscated. "She keeps saying she was found. She didn't mean to be here. Did you bring her to Los Angeles?"

"Yes," Q said with a mysterious smile. "And no." The crowd went wild with laughter.

Picard hated it when Q played these games with him. It was all a test, he knew, to see how far he had come as a person. But when the stakes were so high, a puzzle that would have normally been a delight to try and solve became a frustration, and Picard wished that Q would just be straightforward with him. "Those skeletons – the ones with the red eyes – what are they, Q?"

"Oh, those?" Q smiled impishly, and a soft chuckle echoed through the chamber. "They're just minions. Servants of your progeny, in a manner of speaking."

"What nonsense is this?" Picard demanded. "I have no children!"

"That you know of," Q said, eliciting a round of laughter from the assembled audience. "But don't take things so literally, Jean-Luc. I'm referring to humanity's offspring, if you want to use that vulgar term. You created those metal monsters out there, and they're doing what they were made to do: they're killing everything they meet.

"Of course, that was all in the past. Your past, to be more specific. Earth was lost centuries ago. Most of the galaxy has been hunted to extinction by now. Your little playthings have an occasional spat with the Borg, but for the most part, there's nothing left. And it's all thanks to _you._"

The crowd booed and hissed. "But!" Q exclaimed, "You have a chance to make this right and prove that your primitive species is worth saving after all. Don't tell me you want to be responsible for the deaths of all these people?"

"Of course not!" Picard said hastily. _Who in their right mind would want a future like this? Assuming Q can be trusted, that is._ "But you're not going to tell me how to prevent this, are you?"

"Finally!" Q said happily. "Finally, finally, you aren't demanding that I give you all of the answers like a spoiled little child. Oh, they grow up so fast. You're right, Jean-Luc. I'm not going to tell you how to make all this right. But I'll give you a hint or two if you ask _very_ nicely."

_Nicely, he says. Manners are hardly what Q would be looking for._ "What does Cameron have to do with this possible future you've shown me, Q?"

The being in the judge's robes smiled. "You're catching on, _mon capitan_. All right, you've earned your hint. This place, this universe: it's her home, Jean-Luc," Q whispered.

"This is where Cameron is from?" Picard found it hard to believe, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. "She was fighting back," he realized. "Are you saying that there are people here who haven't been caught or slaughtered, Q? There's a resistance against this evil?"

The crowd laughed softly as Q smiled paternally down at Picard from his chair, which began to retreat back into the darkness. "All in good time, Jean-Luc" he said patiently. "All in good time."

* * *

><p>With a flash of light, Picard found himself back in his Ready Room, seated once again at his desk. This time, he didn't get up and head to the bridge. The Captain tapped the controls of his personal computer to connect to Captain Sisko's office. There was a lot to talk about.<p>

* * *

><p>I don't own Terminator, nor do I own Star Trek. Etcetera, etcetera, and so forth.<p>

Comments, reviews, suggestions of all kinds are always welcome!

Many Thanks for reading. I hope you like the story!

Next Chapter: Why is a nice, romantic evening so difficult to pull off?


	7. Chapter VII: Not Alone

Chapter VII: Not Alone

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><p>Lt. Commander Jadzia Dax – newlywed and now a member of the House of Martok – strode cheerfully towards Quark's in casual athletic attire, ready to recreate one of the most romantic scenes out of Klingon myth. <em>Or history, depending on who you ask.<em> Kahless and Lukara had been attacked on their wedding night, and had held off the hordes of assailants all on their own, cementing the pair as the greatest warriors of the Klingon Empire.

"You know this doesn't count as our honeymoon," Dax teased her husband, clad similarly to her. They would have carried real _bat'leths_ but for Odo's ban on weapons on the Promenade.

"Yes, Jadzia. I know," Worf answered for the ninety-second time. "I told you that you would be the one to plan our honeymoon, and I still mean that," he said patiently.

"Good," Jadzia replied, mischief in her voice. "Because while we are going to have a _wonderful_ time on our honeymoon, I don't intend to let you forget tonight either."

_Is that a smirk on his lips? Never!_ "Nor do I intend to allow you any respite," her husband said.

"Respite?" Dax laughed at the Klingon's choice of words. "Perish the thought, Worf. Our only concern tonight is to end up walking into sickbay so bruised and beat up and overflowing with hormones and endorphins that Julian will wet himself while he tries to keep a straight face treating us."

"He did seem intent on winning you for himself for a time," Worf noted grimly.

Jadzia smirked and chuckled. "Don't tell me you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Worf asked incredulously. "Of Dr. Bashir? What could he possibly offer that I have not pledged to devote my life to giving you?"

"Hm. That's a tough one," Dax said thoughtfully. "I'll get back to you in the morning with a full and _detailed_ list," she teased with laughter in her eyes.

Worf growled as he walked. "You are trying to provoke me into losing control of myself during our holosuite time," he guessed.

Dax put a hand to her chest. "Worf, I'm hurt. You know I would never do something like that." She leaned in close to him. "Unless I really, _really_ wanted to. I don't want you to lose your inhibitions until just the right moment."

Her husband growled an intimate sound under his breath. "You are truly devious, Jadiza Dax."

She poked him in the chest. "And don't you forget it." So saying, Dax led her husband into Quark's, which was full of customers, and the waiters seemed to be quite busy. _Must be happy hour,_ Dax reasoned.

Interestingly enough, Quark was not busy giving his waiters hell, but was scurrying out from behind the bar to meet them. "Thank the Nagus you're here, Commander," he said, making a point to look at Dax and ignore Worf.

"Something wrong, Quark? Why isn't Odo here?" she asked, wondering what could have her fellow _tongo_ player in such a state.

Quark sighed for what Dax guessed was dramatic effect. "It's not that kind of trouble. It's something worse." Another melodramatic sigh indicated that an over-embellished tale was about to be told. "Some _creature_ from the depths of Destitution appeared in my humble establishment without so much as a slip of latinum to her name. Out of the kindness of my heart, I offered her one free spin of the _dabo_ wheel." He snorted. "'Never gambled before,' she said. How did I ever fall for that? The first spin earned her a few slips. The next _two dozen_ spins almost took the house."

The Ferengi's eyes widened. "The house _always _wins!" he protested, begging the Trill to see reason. "That woman is going to-"

"Ah. Say no more, Quark," Dax said, understanding things better. "You always had trouble with the 94th Rule, didn't you?" she teased, referring to the Rule of Acquisition that warned against mixing 'females and finances.'

"It wasn't like that, I swear!" Quark said, sounding desperate. "She wanted to buy something from me, and I wasn't about to let _all_ of my latinum get away from me. But, you see, she wanted holosuite time. And she wanted to use the Kahless-Lukara wedding night program. On her own."

Dax looked to Worf, expecting him to blow up, but he looked rather pensive. _Worf _never_ looks pensive._ "She must be a formidable warrior to engage so many enemies with only a holographic recreation to aid her," he said. "That, or else she is exceedingly arrogant."

"Oh, she's strong, all right," Quark said. "The other day, there were a few Klingons who had had a bit too much to drink. No inhibitions at all. She wiped the floor with them. I think she put a hole in one's armor, even, no joke. And she's still in the holosuite right now. I tried to tell her that she'd have to leave at 1730, and technically you are three minutes early," the Ferengi said, trying desperately not to incur the wrath of the Son of Mogh.

"Really?" Dax said, arching her slender eyebrows. "Well, we may as well introduce ourselves. She sounds like someone I'd like to know. Maybe spar against, even."

"What are you saying, Jadzia?" Worf said, looking concernedly at her.

She shrugged innocently. "I'm just curious, Worf. Someone cunning enough to take Quark for so much latinum, not to mention strong enough to put a dent in Klingon armor… Doesn't that seem just a little bit exciting?"

"Perhaps," the Klingon conceded. "Very well. We will proceed to the holosuite," he proclaimed.

"Number two," Quark said, heading back behind the bar rather hastily. "Have fun!" he called back, visibly thankful to be rid of one particular worry for the evening.

Dax sprinted up the stairs two at a time, eager to meet the mystery woman Quark had told her about. _I wonder what species she is. Cheating a Ferengi out of his wallet isn't the most Klingon thing to do, but I guess some Klingons would see humbling a Ferengi as honorable._

Approaching the holosuite doors, the Trill took a step back when the portal didn't open at her footsteps. "Computer, status of holosuite," she requested.

A chime later, "Program Worf Beta-Nine in progress. Warning: Safety protocols have been disengaged."

"The safeties are off?" Worf said incredulously. "Even for a Klingon, recreating one of the ancient tales is not something to be taken lightly. Computer," he instructed, "two to enter as non-participating observers."

The computer chimed. "Enter when ready."

Dax looked to her _par'Mach'kai_. "Let's go see what this is all about," she said quietly, entering the holosuite.

A great stone hall greeted her and Worf, and it was littered with Klingon bodies sporting various cuts and abrasions. There were more than a few limbs and even heads that had been separated from their bodies.

At the center of the room was the unmistakable holographic visage of Emperor Kahless fighting against a horde of attackers. At his back was a small figure with long brown hair. She was wearing strange clothing that did not belong in the environment at all, but she held her own with a _bat'leth_ quite easily.

A spinning swipe of her blade brought her face into view, and Dax was surprised to see it belonged to a human girl. _She looks human, at least._ But few humans could wield a _bat'leth_ with such skill, let alone a human so small and so young.

An oncoming warrior brought his blade against hers and twisted it to send her weapon flying out of her hands. _What was she thinking?_ Dax wondered incredulously. _She's going to get herself killed._

The Trill did not expect to see the girl bring one fist down on her attacker's weapon and split it in two. Grabbing onto the holographic Klingon's armor, she picked him up and threw him across the room. He hit the ground hard, rolled a few times, and did not get back up.

Two more Klingons rushed to take their fallen comrade's place, but the girl swiped one of their blades by grabbing onto the bladed edge, turning the weapon on the two warriors and decapitating them both with one swipe.

"Look at her face," Worf said quietly.

Dax snapped out of what must have been a trance when Worf spoke. She had been so caught up in watching the girl's dance of death that she didn't notice the girl herself. Her face held no fear, but it didn't hold anything else either. No joy or excitement or _anything_ resembling emotion. The girl was acting like a relentless killing machine.

Finally, the last of the holographic attackers fell to Kahless's _bat'leth_. He turned to his would-be Lukara and began to sing.

He was met by a blade at his neck, and Worf and Dax were forced to watch the greatest warrior in all of Klingon history beheaded by a mere slip of a human girl.

When the unknown warrior put down her weapon and looked straight at the holosuite entrance, Dax felt the color drain from her face. There was still no emotion on the girl's face, and it scared the _khest_ out of Jadzia.

The girl strode forward and turned to look at Worf, who was doing his best to appear imposing. "I'm sorry for going over into your holosuite time, Commander Worf," she said in a polite monotone. "Do you require monetary compensation?"

_She knows Worf by name. Does he know her as well? Or is he just that famous as the only Klingon in Starfleet?_ Dax felt a little bit miffed that the girl hadn't thought to so much as look at her. _But then, that's probably for the best. She might think I was prey._

"No," Worf said at last. "No compensation is needed. Good day, miss."

"Good day," the girl said with a bit more warmth before exiting the holosuite without a single glance backward.

When the door closed behind the girl, Jadzia let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. "Well, I think I've seen enough battle for one day. Suddenly, fighting hordes of attacking Klingons on my wedding day doesn't seem as appealing."

Her husband nodded. "It was quite a display," he agreed.

"Still," Dax said slyly. "It'd be a shame to let our holosuite time go to waste. Didn't Kahless and Lukara celebrate their victory on their wedding _night_?"

Worf smirked at that. "They did indeed, Jadzia."

"I like the sound of that. Computer, delete all holographic characters," she instructed, and the photonic Klingons vanished. _There. The mood is lighter without the Emperor's head rolling around_. "Now then," she said, tackling her husband to the floor, "that talk we had earlier about losing our inhibitions? Is now a good time?"

* * *

><p>After a quick sonic shower back on the <em>Enterprise<em>, Cameron strode down the Promenade towards the Replimat to meet Jake Sisko. He had seemed reluctant to call their meeting a date, but Cameron had no intention of letting him keep up a pretense of not being romantically interested in her. Her own pretense of interest was beside the point.

She was almost ten minutes late. The holoprogram had taken longer than expected. The programmer had enabled the Klingon characters to take more injuries before dying than they would in reality. _It was likely an attempt to make the program seem more grandiose,_ she reasoned. Hopefully, Jake would have waited for her.

"Cameron! There you are!" Jake said, getting up from a table at the Replimat and jogging over to her. "For a while there, I thought you'd forgotten our da- Our meal," he said hastily.

She flashed a smile at him. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Jake. I managed to get some latinum, and I lost track of time in the holosuite." This was not technically true. She knew exactly what time it was at any given moment, but she had chosen to complete the program before preparing for the date.

Jake grinned back at her. "Do I want to know?" he asked wryly.

"You might," she teased. "A girl on her own, wandering an alien space station, comes across a gambling establishment. The proprietor gives her one free spin on the _dabo_ wheel. She gets lucky."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "How lucky does she get?"

"Lucky enough to go another twenty-five spins without losing once," she said with a straight face.

Jake burst out into laughter, and Cameron joined in with her own soft approximation of the same. "Quark must have blown a gasket."

"No, he had no gaskets to blow. But he did charge me more than he should have for holosuite time. I don't blame him. He doesn't deserve to be cheated out of _all _of his money."

"Cheated out of it, you say?" Jake asked suggestively as he sat back down at the table he'd left to greet Cameron.

She took a seat across from him. "A figure of speech. Nothing more," she said neutrally before winking at Jake and smiling. Having a computer for a brain that could calculate where the ball would land on the _dabo _wheel helped a lot, as did having ocular sensors that could see the inner workings of the gambling apparatus itself.

Jake chortled and looked at a PADD on the table in front of him. He hadn't ordered a meal yet, which struck Cameron as a positive sign. He hadn't wanted to eat without her. "Do you want to get some food?" she asked.

"In a bit," Jake said. "There's this story that I've been asked to keep an eye on by the FNS, and the more I look at it, the more it gives me the creeps. I'm not sure what to say, you know?"

"Not really," Cameron said honestly. "What's the story about?"

"Well," Jake said, hesitating before looking up from his PADD at Cameron. "Do you by any chance know anyone named Sarah or John Connor? Any humans, that is?"

"No," she lied at once. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, both are common enough names. There are plenty of John Connors and Sarah Connors in the Federation, and a lot of them – on several different worlds – are ending up dead. Murdered, it seems." Jake shook his head. "There haven't been any murders in the Federation for years, let alone a spree of them like this."

"Do you have any leads on who's after them?" Cameron asked, moving closer to Jake so she could get a better look at his PADD.

"Not really," Jake confessed. "Only vague descriptions. All of the Sarah's were supposedly killed by a really big, muscular human male with a thick accent. European, I think, but I'm not a hundred percent sure on that."

Cameron nodded at the familiar description of the Series 800 Model 101 Terminator. "And the one targeting the John Connors?"

"That's harder to pin down," Jake said. "Different people have seen different things. There's no firm ID on the killer. Some people have seen a human male in his thirties with dark hair, but there are also three people who claim to have seen what they described as a 'silver changeling.'" Jake shivered. "_That _is something that scares me. As if the Borg and the Dominion had a child or something. And yes, I know the Borg are more black than silver. But still, why would this whatever-it-is only target people with a certain name?"

"I don't know," Cameron said, processing the appearance of a T-1000 and what might have been a T-888. She needed to get Jake away from this line of investigation. He was a valuable asset, and she couldn't let him get into danger's path. "Can we get something to eat now, Jake? Talk like this is making me feel a bit uneasy."

"Huh. Oh, yeah. Sure! I'm so sorry, Cameron. I've been a bit of a jerk, haven't I?" he said sadly.

"No. Not a jerk," she said softly.

"Well, let me make it up to you anyway," Jake insisted. "I mean, why go to a Replimat when you can have a home-cooked meal? All the men in my family have the 'cooking gene,' so to speak. Mind if I make you dinner?"

Cameron's eyes flickered down to Jake's PADD once more, and one name in particular caught her eye. 'Ensign John Edward Connor. Department: Sciences. Specialty: Cybernetics. Current Assignment: _USS Enterprise-E_. Status: Active.' _They'll come for him,_ Cameron realized. _And I'll be waiting._

But Ensign Connor would have to wait for later. John Connor he might be, but he was not _her_ John Connor. _My John doesn't exist,_ she thought. The mental statement produced an errant line of code that vanished before Cameron could identify it.

Filing the information on Ensign Connor away, she tossed back her hair and flashed a smile at Jake Sisko. "Dinner at your place?" she asked warmly. "It's a date."

* * *

><p>"Gee, Brain! What do you think we'll own tonight?" "The same thing we own every night, Pinky: not Star Trek, not Terminator, and likely nothing else either."<p>

Many Thanks again to everyone for reading and commenting. You all are what makes this story worth writing, so I hope you enjoy it!

Next Chapter: The Iron Chef


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